


Just Breathe

by LittleLostPieces



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLostPieces/pseuds/LittleLostPieces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a portrait worthy of hanging over the fireplace: two incredibly handsome young men and their equally adorable children, all shined up and polished, politely posed and smiling, a split second perfectly captured for eternity.</p><p>As a photographer, 18-year-old Harry loves a good snapshot, a well-preserved moment in time.  He also likes kids an awful lot, has always wanted to raise a family with a loving and supportive partner of his own.  Meeting Louis, a 25-year-old father of two, after a night out seems like the perfect realization of all of Harry's dreams really.</p><p>Louis, however, knows that one photograph can't begin to tell an accurate story of parenthood, of the joys and challenges of constantly living with wonderful, yet sometimes incredibly odd and frustrating, little humans.  He's already had a partner who couldn't handle the pressures, one who left Louis with a mountain of doubt that anyone else will ever want to join his cracked family.</p><p>Falling in love is as easy as releasing the shutter.  Developing the entire picture may take a little more time and effort than either of them expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> About a year ago, I wrote the epilogue of this story with every intention of taking it in an entirely different direction. That idea fell apart and got shoved into a WIP folder until I mentioned it to supernope months later. She encouraged me to sign up for Big Bang again, and helped me develop that old idea into something so much better. Thanks, lady. You're the best cheerleader!
> 
> Also, thanks to gravitating, who is the most encouraging beta on Earth. <3
> 
> And Chloe, chasing-thestarlight, made an incredible [mix](http://8tracks.com/chloesumner1317/just-breathe) to go along with this story. She's been amazingly cool to work with, so thanks for that!

If Louis thinks about his life five years ago and his life now, things haven’t really changed much. 

Five years ago, he would stumble through a supermarket, half out of his mind, trying to find anti-nausea and headache medication while calming one beautiful boy sometimes prone to crying after a long evening and attempting to keep another lovely thing from bumping into a display or accidentally shoplifting masking tape. Tonight, he’s doing practically the very same thing.

There are differences, of course. Tonight, he’s half out of his mind from sleep deprivation rather than alcohol and he’s searching for children’s versions of the same medications. Also, the beautiful boy he’s trying to console is not Zayn, but Louis’ eighteen month old son, Jack. The babbling little klepto is his four year old daughter, Madeline, instead of Liam, but still. It’s virtually the same thing.

The only real difference is that he didn’t pull in a toilet stall an hour ago. Or even a month ago. Or a year ago, which is far too depressing to ponder in his current disheveled state, frankly.

So maybe the only real difference is that Louis’ priorities have shifted a bit. It’s alright, though. This is the life he’s always dreamed of, so it’s fine. Well, in his childhood dreams, he had a partner to help with this midnight shopping business, but he learned well from his own mother that things don’t always go as planned in that area, that some of the men who think they’re ready to settle down and start a family really aren’t, so he finds his time wasted on the bitterness of being unceremoniously dumped just over a year ago.

His energy is better spent making these little lives better than anyone’s little life has ever been.

Granted, he has to remind himself of it a little more adamantly at three in the morning.

The shop is mostly deserted, save for the bored clerk at the check out and a few drunken patrons a couple of aisles over. Louis has yet to see them, but he can hear muted voices somewhere in the background, so he knows they’re not completely alone here. Thankfully, the kids are being somewhat cooperative, so he doesn’t really worry about it.

Of course, it is in this moment that Jack seems to realize he’s gone twenty minutes without screaming in his sleepy discomfort. He begins wailing so loudly that Louis can’t tell if the others are still in the shop or not. 

Louis stops walking, rocking Jack and rubbing a soothing hand over his back. “I know, babe, I know,” he whispers as sympathetically as he can for a man who’s slept roughly one hour in the last two days. “We’re going to find something to fix you up, alright? It’s going to be alright. Just please, you’re very loud, love. Shhh, please, can you just-?”

Madeline decides that now, when Louis has finally accidentally stopped in front of the products he was looking for all along, it would be a good time to make a break for it, tearing down the aisle as fast as her tiny legs will carry her.

“Maddie, stop!” Louis shouts, to no avail.

He grabs the first package he can reach, hoping to hell that it’s the right thing, gripping Jack tighter to his chest while trying to listen for the sounds of Madeline’s sneakers on the linoleum. It’s rather impossible to hear beyond the shrieks of the sick baby in his arms.

“Madeline Louise!” he shouts again, stopping to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t be saying her name so loudly. Everyone in the shop doesn’t need that kind of familiarity with his daughter, his paranoid exhaustion screams against his brain.

As though sensing his father’s panic and feeding from it, Jack wails louder, his tiny fists beating ineffectually against Louis’ hooded sweatshirt. 

He should have grabbed a trolley. Jesus.

Without stopping to think, he makes a left and hopes he’s searching in the right direction. There’s a brief moment of triumph when he sees her round the end of the aisle and start for the next one over, but when Louis follows her path, his heart leaps into his throat again.

He watches as Madeline crashes directly into the legs of a lad who is laughing in the liquor aisle, falling to the floor with a startled shout. He’s been at this dad thing long enough to telegraph the tears before they start and he’s only halfway to the pair of boys who are now crouching next to his simpering daughter before he’s got a second screaming child on his hands.

“Maddie,” he calls out her name, watching as three sets of eyes turn toward he and Jack.

“I falled,” she informs him, sniffling as the taller of the two boys helps her to her feet. 

Louis’ first instinct is to punch the stranger for touching his little girl, but somewhere in his exhausted brain, he knows that would be impolite. Instead, he focuses on Madeline, who appears to be more stunned than actually hurt.

“Are you alright, love?” he asks, attempting to juggle an increasingly-wiggly Jack while crouching to check on Madeline.

She nods, pushing her hair out of her face while still gripping tightly to the hand of the kindly stranger who helped her in her time of need. “Me bum hurts,” she finally says, face twisted in confusion as to why that might be.

The strangers, both the one holding her hand and his friend, chuckle at that. “You took a pretty hard fall there, little one,” the one holding her hand says, voice low and slow under the hum of the lights and the whines of the tiny boy Louis can’t seem to console for anything.

Madeline looks up, as though she’s just realizing she doesn’t know half the people standing here at the moment, and then runs to Louis, throwing herself against his legs and reaching up for him to hold her.

“You’re alright, babe,” he promises, rubbing her back as he turns his attention to the two young men still watching him with wide eyes and friendly smiles. “Sorry to bother you,” he finally says because, honestly, he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to say but they obviously expect something.

“You’re alright,” the blond one chirps. “Harry here’s already fallen down more than that tonight.”

“Thanks for that,” Harry says, rolling his eyes even as he’s beaming a radiant smile toward his friend. To Louis, he says, “He thinks embarrassing me in front of really fit guys is hilarious, Niall does.”

It’s a bold statement, followed by an even bolder wink and a cheeky smile, but Louis can’t resist smiling back. He’s scruffy, unshowered, and wearing wrinkled joggers that haven’t seen the inside of a washer this week. If a beautiful boy with sweat-limp curls and flushed cheeks wants to flirt with him and call him _fit_ , Louis is going to take the compliment.

“Daddy, I need a wee,” Madeline announces, thoroughly interrupting the wittiest of comebacks Louis was working up to.

He nods toward his daughter and then thinks to aim a weary smile in Harry’s direction. “Apparently, so does she,” he says pointedly, causing Harry to laugh, a brilliant, booming sound that rises even above Jack’s ragged breathing against Louis’ shoulder. “Alright, lads, lovely to meet you but we’re off to find a toilet.”

Of course, Louis assumes that’s the end of his interaction with Harry and, honestly, he’s forgotten all about both of the pleasantly-drunk boys who helped his daughter off the floor by the time Madeline has finished her wee, attempted to clog the toilet with too much loo roll, and screamed at Louis for not letting her play in the sink. 

At least Jack has finally fallen into a fitful sleep, he thinks as he drags Madeline out of the bathroom.

It’s a bit of a giant surprise when he finds Harry standing outside the door, one foot casually crossed over the other, hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans while the other thumbs easily through his phone. He looks up with a bit of surprise - _whoah, hey, fancy meeting you here!_ , he’s a terrible actor - and then stuffs his phone into his jacket pocket.

“Hey, so I know this is weird and probably terrible timing,” he starts, “but I was wondering if I could maybe get your number? And also possibly your name?”

If Louis weren’t so incredibly tired, he might hug Harry just for being the most charmingly endearing person he’s ever met. “You’ve been waiting out here all this time just for that?”

Harry shrugs. “Yes, but it wasn’t a bother. I mean, Miss Madeline writes a mean tune about koalas,” he says, winking at Madeline who, shockingly, winks back. Or attempts to. Mostly it just looks like she has a facial tick, but Louis thinks he might explode from the cute of it all.

“Louis,” he says suddenly, startling even himself a bit with the exclamation. “My name, I mean,” he clarifies, stomach twisting when Harry grins even bigger. 

“Excellent,” Harry encourages. “We’re halfway there then.”

On the one hand, it’s incredibly flattering to have some beautiful young thing, fresh from a club with his entire life spread out before him, wanting Louis’ number. On the other, Louis doesn’t exactly live the life of a uni student anymore. This could be an incredible mistake.

“What makes you think I give my number out to men in supermarkets, Harry?” he asks, testing possibly a bit unfairly. “I mean, you’ve met me with my two children.” Surely Harry must assume that means _something_. Everyone does.

It’s Harry’s answer, his confused face, nonchalant shrug, and genuine, “So?” that seals it for Louis. 

That it never occurs to Harry to question how Louis could possibly be a father and a man who flirts with another man in a shop, that it doesn’t seem strange or impossible or terrifying to him in the least, is what makes Louis’ decision for him.

*

Louis doesn’t waste much time thinking about Harry after that. In some rom-com fairytale, he would remember him fondly, maybe even sit around, wishing for a call, but Louis’ life hasn’t been a fairytale for awhile now. Incredibly fit, young lads with miles of legs and dimples and curls may flirt with Louis after a long night out, but once the hazy glow of the party wears off and reality sets in with the hangover, he’s just another story to tell on a lads’ night. That is, if he even remembered Louis at all.

It’s fine. It is what it is and all that. Besides, Louis was half-asleep in that shop the other night. There’s no way Harry is actually as fit or as friendly or as charming as Louis remembers him anyway. Not that he finds the time to remember him at all.

*

It’s Wednesday night, the halfway point of the week nearly finished, and Louis already feels like he could sleep the entire weekend away. Well, he could, if he didn’t have two ridiculously rambunctious children who don’t seem to understand the concept of a weekend at all. While he realizes they don’t yet know just how exhausting they can be, especially coupled with Louis’ somewhat demanding teaching job, he can’t help but wish he could just sit them down and explain it. 

For tonight, they’re sleeping and that’s really all Louis can ask. It’s only nine o’clock and he tells himself that no self-respecting twenty-five-year-old goes to bed at this hour, but he’s afraid his eyes won’t stay open for another fifteen minutes and there’s no one here to judge him for slipping into bed anyway, so he washes his face and slips under his incredibly comfortable duvet anyway.

He’s nearly asleep when the phone buzzes on the bedside table. Great.

_Hiiii! It’s Harry from the supermarket the other night. x_

Though he’s tired enough to fall asleep on his feet, Louis smiles in spite of himself. _I’m sorry, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific. I meet a lot of cute, curly lads in supermarkets. ;)_

It’s not until he sends the text that he realizes he’s just winky faced. Good fuck, he’s tired.

Harry’s response comes immediately. _I don’t doubt it. Can I call you?_

Louis’ heart takes a stammering trip in his chest, which is strange given as that kind of panic has been generally reserve for his children recently. He can’t remember the last time an actual adult made his heart pound. Or, rather, he can remember and would rather not. 

_It’s alright if you don’t want me to._ Harry sends after Louis is silent for too long.

 _No_ , Louis responds and, if he’s completely honest, he isn’t sure why the thought of Harry not calling makes him feel even more nauseous than the thought of him calling. _Yes_ he adds quickly, when he realizes how that last text looked. _You can call, yes_ he adds, telling himself an actual spoken conversation can’t be any more disastrous than this text one has gone.

He’s struggling to sit, to blink any impending sleep away, when his phone starts ringing in his hand. “Hello?” he answers, praying his voice doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Harry sighs. “You still sound as hot as I remember.”

Whether he’s being genuine or just being nice to calm Louis’ nerves, the words are appreciated. “You’re not shy, are you?” he asks with a soft chuckle, his heart still rabbiting wildly in his chest even as he forces his hands to still in his lap.

Harry very nearly audibly shrugs. “Just don’t really censor myself well is the problem,” he explains. 

“How very self-aware of you to say,” Louis teases back, smiling in spite of himself. It’s a flirtatious smile, one he hasn’t used in a while, one that he hopes translates over the phone. 

Without preamble or segue, Harry says, “So I was calling to see if you were busy Friday night.”

Direct. “This Friday?” Louis clarifies. As in two days from now? 

“I know it’s short notice,” Harry interrupts, as though he was expecting the hesitation. “But if you can’t find a sitter, you can bring the kids.”

“You want me to bring my children on a date?” Louis asks, because unless he’s grossly misinterpreting what’s going on between he and Harry, this is a date they’re talking about. Things surely haven’t changed that much in the last few years.

There’s a brief silence and then Harry clears his throat. “Well, I saw in the paper that there’s a free family film night at the aquarium. It’s, creatively, _Finding Nemo_ , so I thought maybe we could do that? If your kids like films, I mean.”

“They do,” Louis assures him. “We do,” he adds softly, not bothering to tack on that Madeline, especially, loves anything animated and brightly colored. He’s a bit too distracted by the fact that this man, this boy really, saw an advert in the paper for a family film night and thought of Louis. It means a lot. “It’s just.”

Too much, it means too much. And he doesn’t actually _know_ Harry, has barely shared more than a couple of smiles and one relatively easy, though somewhat awkward, phone conversation with him. It would have been more than enough before, but now.

“I don’t normally,” he stops again and takes a deep breath, torn between sharing way too much of himself and just enough to let Harry understand where he’s coming from. “Look, they’re really young and they get attached very easily, Harry. They’ve already seen people walk out of their lives and I’m just not sure,” he chuckles sardonically. “I’m not sure I want to introduce them to someone who might not stick around for long.”

He wonders, briefly, if Harry knows Louis isn’t just talking about his kids here.

“That’s alright, yeah,” Harry responds quickly, too quickly, and with another clearing of his throat. “I get it.”

“I don’t think you do,” Louis answers just as fast. “I’m not saying no,” he adds, desperate for Harry to realize that he actually _does_ want to see him again. He just doesn’t know if. Well, he doesn’t _know_ and it never feels like he can afford the luxury of uncertainty these days. “It’s just complicated.”

For a long time, long enough that Louis starts to wonder if the call was dropped, Harry is quiet. When he speaks again, it’s slow and measured, as though he’s thinking through each word before he says it aloud. “Alright, how about this. Now you have my number, yeah? So you think about it, take as long as you like, and then let me know if you decide you want to give it a go? Will that work?”

It’s the kindest response to a semi-rejection Louis has ever heard. Jesus, but this kid could undo every part of Louis that he thought was tightly sewn up and carefully controlled. There’s something about Harry, a general good-person vibe, that he can’t exactly quantify, but that he wouldn’t mind having around, in whatever capacity.

“Yeah, alright,” Louis finally answers, knowing deep down that he won’t call Harry back, even as they wish each other a good night.

He wants to. Definitely, he’s tempted to see where this might lead. More than that, though, he’s scared that it won’t lead anywhere at all and he’s just not sure he could stand that.

*

There are benefits to having a best mate who is also a professional counselor. Louis honestly doesn’t know how he would have made it through the entire Nathan fiasco without Zayn’s patience and advice. Of course, he was good at those things before he had a degree to prove it.

“Are you going to pace like that the whole time?” Zayn asks from the chair in his cozy home office before nodding toward another identical chair. “Or maybe you’d like to sit eventually? Before you launch me into some kind of anxiety attack?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Louis fires back, twisting his fingers together as he flops into the chair. He’s already explained the situation, laid everything out for Zayn, everything from the fortuitous meeting in the shop to the phone call and the date proposal and all of his uncertainty about accepting. He’s said everything. Now it’s Zayn’s turn to professionally tell him what to do with himself. “What do I do?”

Helpfully, Zayn shrugs. “I can’t tell you that.”

How is it that Louis always forgets what a terrible advice-giver Zayn is until he’s in the middle of a crisis and his mate won’t bloody fix it for him? 

Louis huffs. “Well I can’t, either.”

“Why not?” Zayn asks, easy as he ever is. “What’s the real problem here, Lou?”

On paper, there _is_ no problem. Maybe that’s the problem, Louis thinks. “He’s perfect.”

But Zayn just rolls his eyes. He’s never really fallen in love with Louis’ flare for the dramatic, Zayn hasn’t. “He’s not perfect.”

“Well of course he’s not, but he seems interested and he already knows I have kids and isn’t terrified of them.” It puts him light years ahead of some of the other men Louis has met recently.

“But?” Zayn leads.

“He’s very young,” Louis declares and then adds, “I think,” because he doesn’t actually know how old Harry is. He’s got very young skin, though. Louis won’t say that because he doesn’t want Zayn to think he’s an actual weirdo, but Harry does look very young. “Maybe he thinks he knows what it means, dating someone with kids and all, but he doesn’t.”

Zayn’s perfect brows narrow. “And you know that how?”

“He’s young, Zayn!”

 

“So are you, mate,” Zayn reminds him, completely nonplussed by Louis’ outburst. “And you were very young when Maddie was born. You were ready.”

But Louis isn’t normal, not in many ways but certainly not in regards to parenthood. Most lads don’t want to start talking to their partners about starting a family at eighteen. They certainly aren’t ready and excited for it at twenty-one. “Nathan wasn’t,” he finally says.

It’s a valid point, but Zayn strikes it down with a simple, “Harry isn’t Nathan.” 

Which, obviously. Nathan was considerably shorter with darker features and far less curly hair. Louis couldn’t confuse them if he lost his memory completely. 

“Don’t you think you’re jumping way ahead here anyway?” Zayn asks, interrupting Louis’ mental comparison list. “He’s asking for one date, not your hand in marriage.” When Louis opens his mouth to interrupt, Zayn holds up a hand and shakes his head. “Mate, it’s alright to be hesitant. It’s understandable in your situation especially, with your history, but you have to remember to take things one step at a time.”

He’s right. Of course, Louis knows that on one hand, but it would be easier to take those beginning, baby steps if it were just him, if he didn’t have to consider two other little lives right along with his own. “Obviously I don’t want to get hurt,” he says, if for no other reason to than to make Zayn think he’s in some sort of agreement. Zayn likes being right so sometimes Louis lets him believe it. “But, mate, Maddie’s just started sleeping in her own bed again. She’s just stopped asking when Poppy’s coming home. I can’t put her through that again.” 

Even now, just sitting here without his little girl anywhere in sight, Louis can see her tear-stained face, can feel the panic in his own chest as he tries to explain to his baby that her other daddy’s not coming home again, that he’s got a new house of his own now. Everyone in his life has assured him that this won’t scar her for life, but Louis’ own father left when he was very young and he’s not sure he’s gotten over it yet. Maybe she’ll bounce back better than he did, but Louis can’t be sure and that terrifies him a bit.

“I just feel like either choice has the potential for some serious fucking up, ya know what I mean?”

And then Zayn poses the most unhelpful question of all. “But every big decision in life is like that, isn’t it?”

The thing is, Louis really wants to see Harry again. He’s really fit and he seems into Louis. If for nothing more than the confidence boost of being wanted by a nubile, young thing again, Louis wants to see him. That he’s easy to talk to and lovely as a person is such a ridiculously lucky coincidence. 

“Let’s say you do see him again, right?” Zayn finally says, leaning forward in his chair. “Because the question isn’t really if, I can already see that in your eyes. The question is whether you want to take the kids or not.”

Louis would claim that it’s impossible to find a sitter on such short notice, so it doesn’t matter if he _wants_ to see Harry alone or not. The problem with that line of reasoning is that Harry didn’t put a timeline on this, just said that he was ready when Louis was. Besides, he can count a handful of people including his younger sisters who would be thrilled to watch the kids for an evening. 

“It’s pretty simple,” Zayn declares. “If you just want to go out with a fit boy and get laid, there’s no shame in that, Lou. None at all. But if you want to see how he does with the kids, if you’re thinking maybe that’s more important in the long run, that’s okay too. Just figure out which one is more important to you.”

Well, if it was that easy, Louis wouldn’t have needed his shrink of a best friend, would he? Because, listen, Harry is really _sinfully_ hot and Louis hasn’t had sex in what feels like ages. It could be good. It could be fun and totally casual and mean nothing at all. But also, Harry is really _tragically_ kind and Louis can already see himself getting attached to the lad in much more permanent way. If he does, he needs to know that the kids will like him, too, because they’re much more important to Louis than any man.

As if sensing the anxiety building in Louis’ chest, Zayn reaches out and rests his hand against Louis’ knee. “You don’t have to marry the guy tomorrow,” he says softly, so much more softly than Zayn usually addresses him which, frankly, is a bit worrisome in itself. “If you take the kids, you’re just hanging out with a new friend. They don’t have to know that he’s anything other than that. Maybe he won’t be anything more than that. And even if you don’t take them along, you don’t have to rush anything.” He squeezes Louis’ knee and then sits back in his chair. “Just, I don’t want you to be scared to try again, Lou. Nathan’s issues weren’t your fault.”

Zayn has said that very thing at least one hundred times in the last year. Nathan’s issues aren’t Louis’ fault. His freak out, his abandoning his family, wasn’t Louis’ fault then and it isn’t his fault now. He couldn’t have changed it. He couldn’t have made him stay. It wouldn’t have been healthy for the kids or for Louis or Nathan if he had. 

“It’s just all easier in theory,” Louis finally says in lieu of cracking open old wounds and making this a million times more complicated.

For right now, this is about Harry. This is about a boy who saw him at what could be described one of Louis’ worst moments - sleep deprived and saddled with two incredibly tired and fussy children - and still wanted to find out who he was and call him sometime. This is about a kid who charmed Louis over the phone with terrible puns and a confidence that seemed to rush to the forefront and then creep into the background as easily as Harry breathes. It’s about this moment, this one little date. 

It just doesn’t feel little at all. It feels like he’s standing on the precipice of a life changing decision, which is weird but also invigorating and terrifying and more exciting than it should be.

*

_Can we pick you up tomorrow night? Just it’s easier with the carseats._

_Yeah, of course!_

_Alright. Send me your address and we’ll see you then._

*

They’re twenty minutes late to Harry’s halls - his _university halls of residence_ \- but it’s still about fifteen minutes earlier than they ever make it anywhere, so Louis’ counting it as a win. The non-plussed manner in which Harry slides into the passenger’s seat, the beaming grin on his sweet face, is a bonus.

He smells amazing, looks great in tight jeans and an oversized t shirt, and sounds as rich and wonderful as Louis remembers when he says, “Hi,” before turning to wave at the kids. 

“Hi,” Louis greets, sounding far more shy than he ever remembers being. “You look fantastic,” he compliments before he can stop himself.

There’s a soft pink in Harry’s cheeks when he meets Louis’ eye, too. “Thanks. You do, as well.” Over his shoulder, he says, “Hi, guys,” to the kids.

Though Jack smiles shyly and waves back, Louis sees Madeline considering Harry with a curious look. 

“Babe, do you remember Harry?” he asks, watching her through the rearview mirror.

Madeline turns her head and catches Louis’ eye, shaking her head sadly. 

“Well that’s alright,” Harry interjects, still smiling and unaffected. “It was only one time. Are you excited for the film, Maddie?”

This time, her eyes light up a bit. She clutches the stuffed fish in her hands and nods. “I’ve been waiting for it my whole life,” she exclaims dramatically.

“Your whole life, huh?” Harry asks without a trace of sarcasm. “Well it better be good then, hadn’t it?”

Of the two children, Madeline is the hardest to win over, so Louis relaxes a bit when she kicks a foot out and points toward it. “Look, I got new socks!”

He watches the traffic, smiling when Harry takes an intense interest in the pink and green socks on Madeline’s feet. “They have glitter on,” he says with a smile and wide, happy eyes.

“We love sparkles!” she exclaims, as though this is the most important thing Harry needs to know about the entire family.

Maybe it is. Who knows?

Louis smiles when Harry asks, “Do we?” 

“We do,” Louis answers with a nod of affirmation. “They’re lovely and fantastic for distracting from tantrums,” he adds with a wink. “We couldn’t live without sparkly things.” Harry settles back into his seat, looking out the windscreen before Louis asks, “How old are you, Harry?”

Obviously, they picked him up at school. He doesn’t have a flat, so it stands to reason that he’s fairly young, but Louis needs to know for sure. He should at least figure out whether this boy he’s on a date with is legal.

“I’m eighteen,” Harry confirms, picking at the hole in the knee of his jeans. “Nearly nineteen, though. Next week, in fact.”

Jesus, Louis should have brought another safety seat really. 

“I’ve been told I’m mature for my age, though,” he adds quickly, hopefully, almost like a question.

“Hm,” Louis hums, smiling when Harry reaches out to smack Louis’ arm. “I’m here,” he insists. “Wouldn’t be if I didn’t want to be, would I?”

It seems to satisfy Harry for the moment. “What do you do, Louis?”

“I teach,” he answers and he can hear the pride in his own voice. “Drama at a secondary school near the house,” he adds. 

“Ah, nice,” Harry responds genuinely.

They fall into more mundane small talk as they crawl through Friday night traffic toward the aquarium. Madeline occasionally chimes in with random observations that make Harry laugh and twice Jack offers a one-word exclamation that has nothing to do with anything. 

The highlight of the journey, for Louis anyway, is when he asks what Harry is studying at school.

“Art,” Harry answers, almost shyly watching his hands for a moment. “Photography, really. I love it so much.”

“Very cool,” Louis encourages, because it is and also because Harry’s smile is so bright when Louis says it. “I’m terrible at photos, me,” he adds. “They’re always so blurry, which I guess is only logical when the subject won’t sit still for three seconds.”

“Yeah, kids are hard to really capture,” Harry acknowledges. “In more ways than one, I suppose.”

With a sly smirk, Louis says, “I was talking more about selfies.” Harry’s brow furrows, another splash of pink coloring his cheeks. “I’m only joking, Harry,” Louis assures him with a soft pat to Harry’s incredibly firm thigh. 

“Oh,” Harry jumps a bit, covering Louis’ hand with his own and then laughing easily. 

Jack’s laughter peals out over Harry’s, warming Louis’ chest in a way that only his children really can. 

“What are you laughing at, huh, little lad?” he asks, casting a glance in the mirror at Jack’s scrunched up face.

“You,” Jack giggles and points.

When he’s stopped at the traffic light, Louis casts a quick look over his shoulder. “Me? I’m funny?”

Jack nods and Madeline says, “Sometimes you are.”

She looks less than impressed, which cracks Harry up more than the original joke. 

Louis just sniffs and accelerates through the green light. “Hm,” he says. “Everyone’s a critic.”

Harry laughs harder, an uncontrollable bark of a sound that he immediately covers with both hands. That sends Madeline into a louder fit of a giggles and it’s maybe Louis’ new favorite sound. He starts to think maybe this family date thing was an alright idea.

*

Though the offer of free entertainment has brought out families in droves tonight, Louis and Harry find a perfect space for themselves near the center of the room. They spread themselves out on the floor and make a comfy space for the kids amidst a few blankets, and Harry listens to Madeline’s story about her first day of nursery school - Louis can barely follow it himself, but Harry does a nice job of pretending to get it - while Louis fishes bags of fruit snacks and juice cups for each kid out of his bag. 

There’s not much opportunity for conversation during the film, but Louis finds that it’s nonetheless easy to see how similar his and Harry’s senses of humor are, even without words. It’s nice, really. Easy. Easier than Louis thought it would be for sure.

Jack crawls into Louis’ lap a few minutes into the film and is passed out after only twenty minutes. Madeline is mystified, completely captured by the bright, colorful images on the giant screen, squealing and giggling and clapping with the other kids even when she doesn’t know what on earth is actually happening.

It’s just such a nice evening.

“Daddy, I need a wee,” she announces loudly, reminding Louis of the night he met Harry in the shops. He can tell by the soft smile on Harry’s face that he’s remembering the same thing.

Louis’ eyes scan their area of the floor, trying to assess whether he should take Jack with him or try to lay him on the blankets. He’ll wake up, always does when he’s laid down after falling asleep in Louis’ arms at night, and Louis can’t very well lie down with him until he calms a bit here. He bites his lip, considers briefly asking Harry to take Madeline to the toilets, but rules that out almost immediately. Harry’s given him no reason to doubt, but his parental paranoia stops him from sending one of his children away with a stranger alone.

“Daddy!” Madeline repeats, wiggling desperately and grabbing at her jeans. 

“Alright, hang on,” Louis tells her in a raised whisper.

Reaching his arms out, Harry looks hesitant but says, “I can hold him,” anyway.

It does seem the best option at the moment. “Um, alright. If he wakes up, his dummy’s in the bag,” he says, flushing a bit as he hands Jack over.

The tiny boy snuffles but curls into Harry’s neck easily as if he’s been doing it since he was born. Harry rubs one massive hand over Jack’s back and murmurs at him, but Louis doesn’t have time to think on the rush of affection he feels before Madeline is pulling at his hand and whining loud enough to disturb the families around them.

“We’re fine,” Harry assures him with a soft smile. “Just go.”

For what may be the first time in her life, Madeline is in and out of the toilet in about two minutes. Louis suspects it has to do with her not wanting to miss the film, but he’ll take whatever he can get.

He lifts her onto the counter and sets about soaping her little hands. “Maddie, what do you think of Harry?” he asks, as innocuously as possible.

She doesn’t seem bothered by the question as she shrugs and squishes the soap between her fingers. “He’s nice.”

“He is,” Louis agrees, trailing one hand over her hair before nodding toward the tap. “Rinse, babe,” he reminds her.

As she’s clapping the water between her hands, Madeline says, “He’s got nice hair,” almost to herself. “Like Liam’s.”

Louis smiles, reaching into the stream to help her actually wash her hands instead of getting lost in playing with the water, as is her usual post-wee activity. “Liam doesn’t have curls, you nutter,” he teases. “He’s barely got any hair at all these days!”

But Maddie just shakes her head like Louis is the actual nutter here. “He did, though,” she reminds him, raising her arms to let Louis lift her from the counter. ‘Before, when Poppy lived with us.”

The statement nearly stops Louis’ heart. Maybe he’d been naive to think that her constant asking about where Nathan had gone and when he was going to come home meant that she wasn’t thinking about him anymore. He finds himself holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable follow up question, and then exhales loudly when it doesn’t come.

“You’re right, babe,” he finally says, holding her up to the hand dryer and kissing the back of her head. “He did have curly hair before.”

As though she hadn’t brought Nathan up at all, Madeline shrugs again. “I like Harry’s better,” she decides as she pulls the bathroom door open and nearly smacks herself, and Louis, in the face with it. 

“Me, too,” he mutters, forcing himself not to over-analyze their entire interaction.

She’s only four. It doesn’t mean anything. She wasn’t meaning anything other than what she was saying. Liam _did_ have floppy, curly hair when Nathan was living with them. That’s all. Her mentioning it without asking when Poppy was coming home again doesn’t mean that she’s ready to move on. It also doesn’t mean that she’s not. It’s just a timeline reminder for her. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks when Louis sinks back into his spot on the floor a minute later. 

“Huh?” Louis asks, shaking his head and forcing himself back into the moment. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Yeah.”

Nodding toward the place where Jack is still sleeping, draped heavily over Harry’s chest, Harry asks, “Did you want -?”

But Madeline lowers herself into Louis’ lap, her stuffed fish hugged tightly to her chest, and he wraps his arms around her with a shake of his head. “He looks quite comfortable where he is,” he says, swallowing an unexpected round of emotion.

Harry rubs Jack’s back again and nuzzles him a bit. “He’s a great cuddler,” he deduces.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, meeting Harry’s eyes and smiling because Harry is just so very lovely, and Louis is so very glad that he agreed to do this tonight. “Gets that from me, I think.”

“Does he?” Harry asks, scooting a bit until his thigh is pressed up against Louis’. “That’s good to know.”

It’s light years away from serious, this first date with Harry, but Louis finds himself relaxing a bit and determining that he’s going to enjoy the rest of the night for what it is. It’s the best he can do right now, and that has to be enough.

*

As it turns out, there are bonuses to casually dating a uni student. Harry is busy with classes when Louis is working, and he has revising and other activities and mates to keep him occupied when Louis is too tired or too busy to go out during the week. He doesn’t complain that they’re not attached at the hip because he has enough of his own things going on, figuring out how to live on his own and navigate the world without his mum’s help for the first time. 

The best thing about Harry is that he understands he’s not the center of Louis’ world and it’s okay, because Louis isn’t the center of his, either. It’s just. It’s nice, really.

For instance, Harry’s come ‘round for dinner tonight. Louis has a ton of marking to do, work that normally has to wait until the kids are napping at the weekend. His students have come to expect that they won’t receive their graded projects until they’ve nearly forgotten what they turned in, but tomorrow will be a pleasant surprise, thanks to his new friend.

Jack is curled up on Louis’ hip, thumb in his mouth as he naps easily. Occasionally, he hears Madeline squeal in the kitchen, but he’s yet to hear Harry scream _fire_ , so he assumes that they’re doing alright at cooking together. Being able to work while someone else handles dinner is maybe the best gift he’s received in more than a year.

When he’s finished one class, before he moves on to the next, he stands from the sofa and stretches his back, carefully tucking Jack against his neck and tutting into his soft hair as he rocks them both toward the kitchen.

“C’mon, little lad. It’s time to wake up. Dinner’s almost ready,” he whispers, pressing kisses along Jack’s ear while he whines and tries to twist away.

“What’s that?” he hears Madeline ask just before he rounds the corner.

Harry is wearing an apron - who knows where he found it because Louis is absolutely sure he’s never owned an apron in his life - and grinding something into a bowl, his tongue caught between his teeth. He pauses at Madeline’s question, throws a glance to where she’s standing behind a board of torn lettuce pieces, and then tilts his head.

“Are you finished already?” When Madeline nods and brushes her hands together, Harry raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re finished?”

“What is that?” she asks again, sticking her finger into Harry’s bowl, where he’s been hand-grinding a spice blend apparently. Because that’s the kind of thing normal people have time for when cooking.

He watches as she lifts her finger to her mouth. “It’s better on the chicken, silly,” he warns her.

Louis smiles at Harry over Madeline’s head, wrinkling his nose at the same time she does. 

There was little chance she was actually going to eat whatever it is Harry’s trying to cook anyway, but Louis starts fishing marmite out of the cupboard with one hand now that he’s sure.

“Ew,” she screeches, brushing the fingers from her clean hand over her tongue and drooling whatever’s left behind all over the counter.

“Don’t spit on the lettuce!” Harry exclaims, pushing the plate away in horror. He takes a nearby towel and wipes Madeline’s hands, shaking his head and smiling. “I told you it was better on the chicken.”

“I don’t want chicken,” Madeline declares.

Louis already has the bread and a knife out, maneuvering the kitchen with ease even as Jack is beginning to stir, whining against Louis’ ear and clasping at his neck like a disgruntled koala. He’s not a parenting expert by any stretch, but there are certain routines he’s got down to a science, he thinks.

Turning his back to the duo cooking at the island, Louis grabs a couple of small, plastic plates from the cupboard and sets to work, listening with a knowing smile as Harry fights the same battle Louis fought and surrendered a year ago himself.

“But you haven’t had this chicken before. It’s so good, Maddie, I promise,” Harry reasons, eyes wide and voice overly kind, as though Madeline is a small animal he’s attempting to coax out of a cage. Louis thinks it would probably work better on those small animals really.

“I don’t want to, it’s yucky,” Madeline returns.

“How do you know it’s yucky if you don’t try it?”

“Because I do.”

“How?”

“Because it is.”

Louis can’t help thinking maybe he should step in - he definitely shouldn’t be as entertained by this as he is - but neither Harry nor Madeline have shed a tear yet, so he lets it go. If Harry is going to hang out with this family more often, he’s going to have to learn how to stand up to the kids and when to back down. While Louis feels like he’s still learning how to do exactly that, it seems even his mates have figured it out, so he’s sure Harry can, as well.

He’s distracted from pondering further by Jack tugging at his hair, smiling brightly when Louis turns to narrow his eyes playfully. “Are you pulling my hair?”

“Yes!” Jack declares with a laugh, doing it again, far too hard to be funny.

“Alright, thanks,” Louis says, cringing as he tugs his son’s fist out of his hair. “What fruit do you want, huh?”

“I brought oranges and bananas from the farmer’s market,” Harry pipes up.

Louis’ eyes grow wide, mimicking Jack’s expression. “You like bananas, don’t you, big guy?” As Jack nods, Louis looks up to find Harry positively beaming. It’s pretty heart-warming all around, if he’s honest. “Can you say ‘thanks, Harry’?” he asks while walking past Harry, toward the small table in the corner of the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Jack says, reaching for Harry and grabbing a fistful of his hair.

Though he flinches, Harry leans into the touch and pokes Jack’s belly with one finger, laughing when Jack squirms and giggles. “You’re very welcome, Sir,” he answers, watching until Louis has secured Jack into his seat.

With one kid out of the way, Louis heads back toward the counter, stopping to press a kiss into the top of Madeline’s flyaway hair. “What about you, Miss Maddie? What do you want with your sandwich?”

Distracted from her sous chef duties, Madeline hops off her little stool and skips over to Louis, considering her plate while chewing on her fingers. “Yogurt,” she decides, turning to run from the room with a triumphant yell.

Louis grabs a small container of blueberry yogurt from the refrigerator, smiling shyly when he turns to find Harry’s narrowed eyes staring him down from the other side of the island. He shrugs and then casts a glance toward the meal Harry has constructed, some sort of Asian-inspired lettuce wraps that smell amazing.

“Thank you for cooking. It looks really great,” he offers, patting Harry on the shoulder as he carries the kids’ plates to the table. “Madeline, come to the table please.”

“I’m watching a show,” Madeline responds distractedly.

With a sigh, Louis heads into the living room and snaps the television off before turning to find his daughter pouting in the arm chair. “We’re eating dinner at the table, thanks.”

“But I was watching-,”

“You can watch a show when you’ve eaten some of everything on your plate,” he bargains. Harry’s already judging him, Louis can tell, so he’ll be damned if he makes a picnic on the floor in front of the television tonight. “Come on. Let’s go, please.”

It’s hard to tell which of the kids is pouting more, Harry or Madeline, when they sit down to eat. Louis gets it, he does. He’s had his fair share of battles at this very table, knows the feeling of complete ingratitude that washes through his chest when the kids refuse to acknowledge anything he’s tried to make especially for them. But he’s also learned that it’s just not that important.

“So how were your classes today?” Louis asks, in the hopes that he can somehow manage to wipe that tense smile off of Harry’s face. They’ll probably have to talk about this at some point - mealtime is such a basic part of dealing with Louis’ family - but in front of the children is not the place to do it.

They make it through a stilted conversation, Harry’s frustration obviously growing each time Madeline interrupts them, despite Louis’ repeated reminders that she should wait until they’re finished to talk herself. 

“Oranges are my favorite thing in the whole world,” Madeline announces, juice running down her chin, after nearly a half hour of ordering her to eat at least half of her sandwich and a few bites of her yogurt. When she finally asked for a few of the mandarin slices off of Louis’ plate, he nearly sang a chorus of Hallelujah. “Thanks for bringing them to my house, Harry,” she adds before Louis can tell her to, and that’s even more impressive as far as he’s concerned.

Without hesitation, or so much as a grumble really, Harry’s face lights up. “You’re very welcome. Did you know that those were my favorite fruit when I was your age?” He laughs when Madeline nods. “You did? How did you know? Did my sister tell you?”

“You have a sister?” Madeline asks, dropping her orange slice to the table. “I am Jack’s sister.”

Harry turns his attention completely to her, twisting his body as well. “I know you are. My sister’s name is Gemma. She’s older than me by four years.”

“I am older than Jack!” Madeline exclaims, clapping her hands together and turning a crinkled smile to Louis. “Daddy, Harry has a big sister like I am Jack’s big sister!”

“I heard that rumor,” Louis nods his concession, smiling in a way that he knows makes him look fond, but he can’t be bothered to care. He _is_ fond, of both of them.

She shoves her final slice of orange into her mouth and then says, “this is the best news I’ve heard all day.” And then, without missing a beat, “Can I have ice cream?”

“Maybe later,” Louis answers, nodding toward the sink. “Go clear your dishes and then you can pick a show to watch, alright? Do you want the iPad or the telly?”

“Telly please.” Doing what she’s told, Madeline takes her near-empty plate to the sink and dumps it in before wiping her grubby hands on her jeans and running from the room.

With a shake of his head and a sigh, Louis stands and gathers his own dishes. “I’ll clean this one up,” he tells Harry, motioning toward Jack, who is smeared in smashed bananas and jam now, “if you can start an episode of _Peppa Pig_ for her off the recorder?”

Wordlessly, Harry carries his dishes to the sink and then heads into the living room while Louis considers whether he should wipe Jack down with a flannel or just carry him into the back garden and hose him down. 

“You’re definitely going to need a bath tonight,” Louis tells him, laughing when Jack shakes his head. He sets his son on the floor and points toward the door. “Go on, then. Toddle on, soldier. Annoy your sister like brothers are meant to.”

When he turns to tackle the dishes, Harry is sorting through the leftovers at the island, packing food into dishes and humming to himself. It’s hard not to run a hand over his back, so Louis doesn’t bother trying to stop himself. “Thank you for cooking tonight. It was an incredible help and it tasted fantastic.”

Harry smiles, nods a bit, and turns back to the clean up. He doesn’t seem as annoyed as he did, but Louis hates the thought of letting something so silly fester into something bigger. He knows where that road leads and he’d rather not travel it with Harry.

“Please try not to take it personally. They really don’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he says.

“I’m not,” Harry starts and then stops himself. “I spent all week reading all of these blogs about what to cook for kids. They all said basically the same thing, ya know? Feed them what you eat, make sure you don’t distinguish between adult food and kid food, make them eat what you eat and they won’t grow up picky eaters.”

Louis snorts in spite of himself, shaking his head when Harry looks up, his wide eyes so hurt that his research led him astray. “Can I tell you something that the experts never really bother to tell you? All that advice only works in a perfect world, mate. And no kids I know of are perfect, so it’s basically a load of rubbish, complete bull shit really.” He steps a bit closer and reaches out to rest a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Of course I want them to be healthy, so it’s a real struggle, I know. I mean, they have to eat, yeah?”

“Is it always like that then?” Harry asks, the unspoken _or is it just me?_ hangs between them. 

“Yeah, basically,” Louis admits. “I mean, it’s less of a fight now that I’ve figured out what they like. Jack will eat pretty much anything if Maddie’s not around, but he follows her lead when she is. I used to be terrified that she was going to be malnourished and someone was going to storm in and take her away from me because she just wouldn’t eat, from pretty much the time she started on solid foods. Everyone I know has tried everything _they_ know, from begging to shouting to crying about it. She’s a stubborn one when it comes to food.”

Harry’s shoulders relax, his entire body slumping against the island as though Louis has lifted an entire ton of weight off of him. “I really wanted to impress you guys. I don’t know shit about raising kids, Louis, but I know how to cook.”

“Hey,” Louis says, sliding his hand into Harry’s and wishing he knew if they were close enough to just hug him right now. “First of all, you brought fruit, so it wasn’t a total wash. And you have a sister, so that was impressive,” he teases, tucking a finger under Harry’s chin to pull his head up until their eyes meet. “I loved your food and the fact that you even tried, that you bothered to read those insufferable websites, kind of makes me want to kiss you right now, so consider it a success, yeah?”

“You should,” Harry responds, clearing his throat. “Kiss me, right? You should do that now.”

Louis does. He steps closer, slips his arms around Harry’s neck, and grips the back of his head. He pulls him in until their mouths slot together like they were meant to fit, until Harry is holding Louis’ hips and kissing back, soft and gentle and just enough to let Louis know that he’s not going anywhere, not because Louis’ daughter refused his chicken anyway.

They stand there, lost in a pleasant press of chests and lips, until something very loud and very heavy crashes in the living room, until Jack screams and Madeline shouts at him in the bossiest voice she can manage.

Harry is laughing when Louis pulls away and offers him a shrug. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry assures him, following as Louis heads into the other room. 

Louis thinks maybe Harry is right. Maybe it will be okay.

*

“Can I photograph you?”

The kids are in bed, have been for an hour now, and Harry has been laid out beneath Louis on the sofa for the majority of that time. He doesn’t often stop by during the week, but as Louis looks down on him, cheeks flushed and lips swollen red from some relatively in depth snogging, he’s rather glad Harry managed to find some time in his schedule to pop by tonight.

“What, like now?” he asks, halfway between too turned on and too exhausted to fully comprehend any statement at the moment.

With a laugh, Harry shakes his head. “No,” he insists before stilling and tilting his head. He smirks and wiggles his eyebrows, lewdly rakes his eyes over Louis’ exposed collarbones, before he adds, “I mean yes, please at some point let me try to capture how fantastic you look right now.” He trails off with a delightful giggle, squirming when Louis reaches down to tweak his nipple through his thin shirt.

They wrestle about, Harry’s giraffe legs wiggling to pin Louis’ as he pulls at Louis’ hold on his wrists. It occurs to Louis that this could get much more interesting if they had more room, if they just slipped onto the floor or headed up to his bedroom.

But then Harry turns the tables, quite suddenly and with a firm sort of authority Louis has never seen from him, catching Louis’ wrists in his own hands and holding them tight. 

“Stop,” Harry commands, though the way his eyes are smiling belies his tone a bit. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation here. Stop attacking me and answer please.”

It surprises even Louis how much he likes this turn of events, how pleasantly it pools in his belly, this knowledge that Harry could very easily manhandle him completely but chooses to let Louis have the upper hand. It’s a bit of a revelation, that is.

“So, can I?” 

Being as Louis is more focused on the press of Harry’s thumbs on the pulse of Louis’ wrists and the way his wide eyes dance as he licks slowly along his full, lower lip, his brain is a bit offline at the moment. “Hm?” he answers, not bothering to tear his eyes from the line of Harry’s throat.

Harry nudges him with a knee in a place that does not encourage Louis to focus, frankly. “Can I shoot you and the kids?”

“Wait, what?”

“Obviously I mean I want to actually shoot you and your children, you weirdo,” Harry answers, eyes narrowing playfully. “I need to photograph a difficult subject for class - either emotionally or physically difficult - and I think the kids would be perfect. C’mon, let me do some family photos.”

At the moment, Louis would let Harry do pretty much whatever he wants, but if being a dad has taught him anything, it’s that you don’t let on when you’re wrapped around someone’s finger. 

With a shrug, he says, “I suppose so. Can I have a few prints when you’re finished?”

“Of course,” Harry answers, wrapping one of his legs around Louis’ hip. “I mean, if you want them. I’m not a professional or anything.”

“But you will be, won’t you?” Louis asks, hearing and despising the softness in his own voice but failing to care much about fixing it. “Have to have an early Harry Styles original before you’re too famous to bother, don’t I?”

A beautiful flush floods Harry’s neck and chest, disappearing into the neckline of his shirt, as he squirms and lowers his eyes. “Stop,” he whispers but he smiles so brightly that it’s hard to pay him much mind.

“Make me,” Louis challenges, lowering to nip at Harry’s lip until he groans. 

He doesn’t bother telling Harry that the kids are impossible to photograph. If the way his fingers are playing along the line of Louis’ spine, sparking a fire along his skin, is any indication of his ability to work magic, they’ll be the best photos he’s ever seen.

*

Being as the assignment is to capture a difficult subject on film, Louis thinks Harry has definitely chosen the right ones for his project. He’s found a beautiful spot in the park, but wrangling the children outside is even more impossible than it would have been in Louis’ house. Jack has eaten his body weight in dirt already and Madeline won’t stop sticking grass and weeds into her own hair.

“I’m a birdhouse, Daddy, look,” she insists, popping an actual twig directly into her mouth and spinning around as though performing some dance to call the birds to her face. Kids are so fucking weird sometimes, Louis thinks as he snatchs the stick from her mouth and tosses it to the ground.

“You can’t just put nature in your mouth,” he insists, narrowing his eyes a bit when Harry laughs behind him. “You could help, you know. This is your assignment, therefore it’s your fault.”

He’s a right sight, Canon on a strap around his neck, dressed in Chelseas and skinnies, bowling shirt unbuttoned far too low to be decent, a well proper hipster photographer really. Right now, he’s bent at his waist, hands on his knees, laughing with crinkled eyes as Jack tosses a handful of dirt into the air and runs through the cloud of dust.

“They’re fine, Lou,” Harry insists, raising his camera to his eye and snapping off a few, quick shots. 

There’s another laugh, this one louder and longer, at Louis’ back. He turns to raise an eyebrow at Niall, happily drinking a beer on a picnic table. Allegedly he’s here as Harry’s assistant, but he’s not so much as hinted at helping since he arrived, as far as Louis has seen.

“You’re not helping,” he accuses, which only makes Niall laugh harder, the bastard. 

When he turns back around, Jack is sticking his filthy fingers back into his mouth. Louis thinks of the things that used to nauseate him before he had children, the things that would make his stomach turn, and the list was rather long. Now he just rolls his eyes and grabs his son from the ground, hoisting him into the air and tugging his fingers away. 

“Gross,” he says, scrunching his nose but laughing when Jack does, his mouth muddy brown, streaks of it over his cheeks and chin. Louis’ sure he’s dirtier - and also happier - than he’s ever been in his nearly two years on Earth. “Your Nan’s gonna love this picture on her wall,” he mutters, flinching away when Jack reaches for his cheeks.

He turns back to tell Harry that he’s taking Jack to a toilet, inwardly congratulating himself for having the foresight to bring a change of clothes for each of the children, but finds Harry otherwise wrapped up in tucking a crown of wildflowers onto Madeline’s sandy hair. 

She’s sitting primly on his knee, more still than Louis has seen her in ages, singing a tune he remembers from his own childhood, while Harry tries to follow along. He doesn’t know a single word - probably because Louis’ own mum made it up ages ago - but it doesn’t stop him from nodding along and giggling every time Madeline does.

It takes him awhile, between running back to the car to grab the bag and then over to the pavilion to find a bathroom, not to mention the challenge of wiping Jack down and wrestling him out of and into his clothes. He seems to think of this entire situation as a rather silly game though, to be fair, he seems to take most of his life as such. 

“I promise Niall isn’t going to let you fall,” Harry is saying when Louis returns. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, babe, I swear.”

Madeline is standing atop the picnic table, dubious at best.

“Neither would I,” Niall adds, offering her a hand. “Probably don’t look it, but I’m strong, ya know? Strong enough to hold a little girl such as yourself anyway. C’mon then.”

“What’s going on?” Louis asks, standing next to Harry as Jack struggles to be set free.

Harry motions to a low hanging tree branch just above Madeline and Niall. “Have the perfect photo in mind, but Maddie’s a bit hesitant to sit in a tree.”

“Imagine,” Louis snorts.

“You’re not helping,” Harry tells him, narrowing his eyes but kissing Louis’ cheek before returning his attention to his current subject. “Maddie, babe, I have a question,” he says, stooping to grab a stick from the ground.

Louis isn’t sure he likes where this is going, frankly.

“Where do you usually put a birdhouse, huh?”

She’s a clever girl, young Madeline is. With squinted eyes, she looks up and then back at Harry, catching her lower lip between her fingers. “In a tree,” she answers, hesitant and seeming so very small. “But I am not a birdhouse. I am a girl.”

The smile Harry gives her is so kind, so fond, that Louis almost forgets the bloody idiot is trying to put his daughter in a tree. “What if I give you this?” he asks, holding the stick out to her.

It’s a fucking stick, Louis wants to shout. She has a room full of toys at home, more than one child could ever need, but she’s looking at a stick as though it’s all she’s ever wanted in life. Kids are so fucking strange.

“You can trust me, sweetheart,” Harry assures her, taking another step forward. “I would never, ever let anything bad happen to you, I promise.”

There is a tiny voice in the back of Louis’ head that insists that Madeline - that all of them - have no reason to trust Harry. He’s been around for a few months, but sometimes it takes awhile for a person’s true colors to show through. Another voice whispers that Harry gets it, that he’s gentle with her, patient in a way that even Louis isn’t sometimes, and that means something.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Madeline gives a tiny nod. Niall seizes the opportunity, grabs Madeline at her waist and lifts her onto the branch, holding tight to her until she’s truly secure where she sits, until she’s sure she’s not going to fall. Once she realizes that she’s safe, a brilliant grin beams over her tiny face, brightening every corner and erasing every hint of her previous hesitation.

“Don’t forget your stick,” Harry says.

“I don’t need it,” Madeline insists, leaning back against the trunk of the tree and wiggling about on her branch, testing it’s sturdiness until she’s satisfied. “I’m not a birdhouse anymore. I’m a tree princess!”

Somehow, instinctively, Harry is ready when she throws her arms out to the side, the crown of flowers Harry’s fashioned onto her head catching the light as she tilts her face to the sun. For a moment, Louis believes that she might just be what she claims to be this time.

When he’s finished with Madeline, after Niall’s helped her down as promised, Harry turns his attention to Louis. “Let me grab a few of the three of you before we lose their attention for good and then I’ll see if this guy has any left in him,” he says, offering a finger for Jack to hold while he smiles at Louis. “The ones of Maddie are wicked.”

Before, when Harry was asking to take photos of the family, Louis had a blind sort of faith that they would turn out well. He’s not seen much of anything Harry doesn’t do well to this point, to be fair. Now that Louis is sat on a picnic table, both of his beautiful children crawling and squirming all over him, he thinks that faith hasn’t been misplaced. Sure, it takes a little longer for him to pose them than is probably necessary, and his artistry takes precedence over practicality sometimes, but Louis thinks his mum is going to cry actual tears when she sees the finished product, so maybe it’s all worth it.

“Alright, Jack,” Harry says when he’s content with the family shots. “Let’s play, shall we?”

Jack goes easily, always up for a laugh with whomever is ready to join him, letting Harry cart him off to a nearby stump. When Harry places him atop it, Jack automatically tries to jump down. Harry wrangles him back to the center and Jack makes to get down once more. It goes on like this for at least three minutes and Louis is not surprised, but he is a bit impressed and charmed by Harry’s patient determination.

The kind-hearted patience has to wear off some time, though. “Bloody hell, Jack,” Harry finally says, sinking down next to him on the stump and sighing. “You’re not going to listen to a word I say, are you?”

“Hell,” Jack says, laughing when Niall does, clapping his hands in congratulations of his own brilliant sense of humor. “Ball!”

“Ball?” Harry asks. “You want to play with a ball?”

Louis grabs one from the bag at his side and tosses it to Harry, who comes nowhere close to catching it, tripping over his own foot to chase it. Niall guffaws again as Jack joins in, running after Harry until they both go tumbling to the ground, tangling into a heap and giggling into each other’s faces.

“He’s good with kids, yeah?” Niall asks as Louis is too busy staring at his baby having such a great time with this strange, new boy in their lives. “Should see him with my nephew. Understands him better than I do really.”

“He’s good, yeah,” Louis agrees, blinking the affection away. “You’ve known him awhile then?”

“Depends on how you define _awhile_ I suppose,” Niall answers, grabbing another beer from the cooler he brought along. “Since the start of the term, since we moved into the halls and that.”

That’s only been a few months, though. Niall’s not known Harry for much longer than Louis has really. “And he’s already met your family?” he asks.

Again, Niall shrugs. “Just one of those lads you feel like you’ve known your whole life, ya know? Cheeky bastard who can make your dad and your brother laugh until they cry at the dirtiest jokes but still charm your mum or your granny like it’s nothing at all. He’s just. Harry.”

Louis can’t say that he’s surprised by Niall’s assessment. Harry _is_ charming, has been since day one. He’s lovely, but it’s also somewhat worrying.

“Is it genuine, d’you think?”

For all of his drinking and laughing and careless love of life, Niall is astute. “Hundred percent, mate. Harry can’t lie to save his own arse. He’s as honestly ridiculous and great as they come. I’d trust him with me own life.”

Louis watches as Harry tosses the ball to Jack with one hand and snaps a photo of him attempting to catch it with the other. Then he’s singing, something Louis can’t quite make out, both he and Jack jerking around in some approximation of a dance that Louis can’t help laughing at. Ridiculous and great, indeed.

“Would you trust him with your nephew’s?” Louis asks, distracted with the way Jack’s face glows into Harry’s lens. 

“Reckon I wouldn’t,” Niall says without hesitation. “Not gonna trust some arsehole who sings Paul Simon when he’s drunk, not with the life of my nephew, am I? ‘m not a complete idiot now.”

Louis smiles in spite of himself, Madeline catches his attention as she races toward Harry and Jack, her dress swirling around her patterned tights as she launches herself into the dancing fray. They all tumble to the ground together, the three of them, laughter a symphony underscored by the birds and the hum of other people scattered about the park.

It’s certainly a scene made for a photograph, one that Louis is finding more intriguing the longer he looks at it. 

*

 _Niall says this looks like a penis, but I think he’s seen some very misshapen penises in his time_ Harry’s latest text reads. Louis smiles and shakes his head as he opens the photo of the gigantic aubergine Harry has attached.

“So who’s this you’re texting all the time, hm?” 

Louis nearly drops his phone as he looks across the kitchen counter to find his mother, draped in an ancient ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron, rolling dough against the countertop. “No one,” he answers like he’s still in primary school, stealing cookies he wasn’t meant to know were in the fridge.

But Jay clicks her tongue. “Don’t lie to your mummy, Louis. I know that look.” She points a rolling pin at him and narrows her eyes in the least threatening glare possible.

“No, he’s,” Louis starts and then sighs. “His name’s Harry.”

“The Harry that likes smoothies?” Jay asks, her attention on her dough again.

“What?”

This time, she barely side-eyes him with a frustrated look of amusement. “Maddie told Fizz that Harry makes them best.”

It’s her subtle way of reminding him that a.) she has eyes and ears everywhere in this house, and b.) his daughter has a big, fucking mouth.

“Yes, mum, that Harry. The one who likes smoothies.”

She hums triumphantly and then asks, “So he’s met the kids already then,” without actually asking at all.

Louis’ heart drops into his stomach as he stammers with the answer. “They were with me when we met at the shops, yeah, so, um. And he’s been to the house a few times since,” he adds, feeling not unlike that one time his gran made him go into confession at her church. “Um, so yes. Yes. Yeah.”

“Relax, love,” Jay says, shaking her head fondly as she searches the drawer for a cookie cutter. “You’ll have a stroke on me and I’m not sure this old girl can handle adding two more children to the household.”

By some miracle, the house is relatively silent at the moment. The older girls have taken the kids, Louis’ siblings and his own children, outside to play. Still, it will be chaos when they come back in. 

“We’re just. We’re not,” he drops his phone onto the counter and leans heavily against it. “We’re getting to know each other is all. Slowly. Taking things very slowly.”

Sometimes he thinks too slowly. The last time Harry was over, last Saturday night, they were cuddled up under a blanket together on the couch. Louis’ head was on Harry’s shoulder, Harry’s hand drawing slow circles against Louis’ side, while Madeline watched telly at Louis’ feet. Jack was already in bed and it was all Louis could do not to shuffle his daughter off and then drag Harry up to his room and strip him slowly of his ridiculously thin t shirt. 

“Lou, I’m not judging,” his mother interrupts the filthy path his brain was about to take. “I’m just curious is all.”

She’s his mum, Louis remembers suddenly. His greatest support and biggest fan. She’s the only person who hasn’t doubted his skills as a parent since day one, at least not to his face. She’s always been open to anything he wanted to discuss, so why should this be any different. If anyone knows about dating while raising kids, it’s his mum. She married the man Louis considers his dad when Louis was only slightly older than Madeline.

“I just don’t know, mum. This whole thing makes me so.” He waves his arm ineffectually. “I just don’t know.”

As she begins to place cookies on a baking sheet, Jay asks, “Honey, do you remember Stuart?” She raises one hand. “About so tall? Ginger? Very loud and a bit annoying at times?” She smiles when Louis shakes his head. “I dated him for two years, love. After your father left, before I met Mark. He took you to your first professional footie match, Stuart did.”

But he didn’t. Surely she’s mistaken. “Dad took me to my first match,” he reminds her.

Jay shakes her head. “He took you to the first one you remember,” she amends.

“How would I not remember someone you dated for two whole years?”

“You were younger than Maddie is, Louis,” Jay reminds him. “You wouldn’t even know you had a different biological father if I hadn’t told you. You don’t remember him, either,” she says pointedly.

Alright so maybe she has a point. There were people in Louis’ life early on that he doesn’t remember, that didn’t shape the course of his life in any way really, that he would never know existed if someone hadn’t relayed that to him much later on. Sure, Madeline may remember Nathan now, but she won’t forever probably. Louis will explain it to her when she’s old enough to understand what really happened, but she’s not going to have those memories for herself. Maybe vaguely, but not enough to fuck her up forever, as Louis has been fearing.

“Oh,” is all he can think to say.

Sliding the oven door shut, Jay brushes her hands on her apron and crosses to Louis, reaching across the counter to cover his hands with hers. “It’s okay to be careful, baby. It’s good and responsible to think of your children’s well-being, of course. But you can’t make every decision based on whether or not they’re going to get hurt.”

“Oh, right,” Louis answers dryly, meeting her eye with a flat smile. “I’ll just let them play with fire in the street then, shall I?”

Jay meets his sarcasm with her own. “Yes, that’s clearly exactly what I mean, you donut.”

And Louis gets it, he does. He understands what she’s saying, he just doesn’t know if he believes it. “Mum,” he starts.

But Jay rests her fingers against his mouth and says, “Actually that is sort of what I mean, in a way.”

With mock concern, Louis pulls back and considers her. “The twins have done you in, haven’t they?”

Laughing, Jay shakes her head and says, “D’you know how you learned not to jump out of a tree in the back garden when you were nine?”

“I _did_ jump out of a tree in the back garden when I was nine. I broke my leg in three places,” he reminds her, now convinced that his mother’s gone mad at some point when he wasn’t looking.

“Only did it once, though, didn’t you?”

Though he sees her point once again - sometimes you have to try something to learn that you shouldn’t try it again - Louis isn’t going to admit it this time. “You’re the actual worst.”

“It’s alright to take a risk, my love. Sometimes the best thing for your kids is for them to see you happy.”

Louis drops what he’s sure to be the surprise of the conversation on his mother, surely the thing that will change her mind about all of this. “Harry’s only nineteen.”

She doesn’t so much as flinch. “You were sixteen when you started talking about having a family.”

“Yeah but I’m a weirdo. Not everyone’s like me,” he says, without saying what he actually means, without getting to the real heart of his hesitation here.

She’s his mum, though. She doesn’t need him to say it to understand what he’s saying. “Not everyone’s like Nathan, either.”

It was his last chance, really. When Zayn told him the same thing, Louis could shrug it off as Zayn not understanding what it’s like to be a parent. When Liam said it a couple weeks back, Louis could convince himself that Liam hadn’t known Louis his whole life and therefore didn’t know anything at all. 

But his mum. She’s known him forever _and_ understands Louis’ position from every possible angle. If she says it’s okay, he’s really not sure where else he can hide from this thing with Harry.

“D’you have a picture of him?” Jay asks suddenly.

Louis nods, numb, and opens his phone to a selfie Harry sent him a couple of hours ago. In this one, he’s wearing a beanie and his eyes are comically wide, but he looks so, so nice anyway.

“He’s very handsome,” she acknowledges, swiping her thumb and blushing a bit. “Well hello,” she says, clutching at her chest and bringing the screen closer to her face. “That is a very large tattoo isn’t it?” 

Louis snatches the phone back, doesn’t bother looking at the picture Harry sent last night. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of shorts, his chest and arms highlighted by the lamp at the side of his bed. It’s lovely, and hard to hide just how sculpted and toned Harry’s body is, how large the butterfly on his stomach is, or the birds on his collarbones and the laurels on his hips are. Louis quite likes the photo, but he doesn’t need to know that his mum also does.

“Alright,” he exclaims, stuffing the phone in his pocket. He can’t help smiling a bit brighter when his mum winks at him across the counter. “He’s quite fit, okay?”

“So stop being afraid and _enjoy_ it,” she advises.

There’s an innuendo to her words that Louis isn’t willing to acknowledge. Instead, he changes the subject to how his year’s been going at the school and forces himself to stop thinking about the sharp cut of muscles beneath Harry’s tattoos.

*

 _”I'm happy to do it, Lou, really. It’s just that I can’t leave any later than six. I have a study group at half past and I can’t miss it._ ”

No later than six, Harry said. Louis is quite pleased with himself when he strolls into the house at ten minutes to, humming as he kicks the door shut and drops his bags to the floor. It’s quiet. Frighteningly quiet.

“Hello?” he shouts, rounding into the kitchen to find Harry packing up his knapsack.

“Cuttin’ it close, aren’t you?” Harry asks, smiling softly as he rounds the table to greet Louis with a kiss. “You smell nice.”

Louis hums. “Cologne at the shops. Too expensive to ever own, but nice for an afternoon,” he says, casting a glance around the room. “Say, you didn’t ship my children off to the circus, did you?”

“Children,” Harry says, squinting toward the ceiling, pondering. “Children you say. Hm, I don’t know anything about children. I’ve been having a lovely, quiet afternoon, writing a paper. Haven’t seen any children milling about. No. I’m sure I would have remembered that.”

It’s funny, very cute and all, but Louis isn’t sure he’s ever heard both of his kids being this quiet for this long in their entire lives. He wants to trust Harry with the care and feeding of his offspring, but this is somewhat worrisome. “Harry.”

“They’re playing in the front room, you mother hen,” Harry teases, grabbing Louis’ shoulder and pressing another kiss to his cheek. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to say goodbye to your well-behaved children and get to my class like a responsible grown up.”

Louis follows him to the front room, follows the sounds of tinkling music from Madeline’s favorite app, the one she always starts and then forgets about midway through. What they find in the center of the floor is not exactly dangerous. It’s not exactly okay, either, but it is quite hilarious.

Jack seems more than happy to be lying on the ground, allowing his sister to color along his back and legs with a marker, random shapes covering the whole of his tiny body.

“Holy shit,” Harry gasps, hands over his face and chest flooding red immediately. “Louis, I am so, so sorry,” he stammers.

“I gave Jack tattoos, Daddy, see!” Madeline proclaims with the brightest smile she’s maybe ever had.

Madeline’s look of pride is equal to the look of horror on Harry’s face at the moment. His eyes are wide, possibly a bit more watery than they were, and he’s now tugging at his hair in distress. 

Crossing to the pair on the floor, Louis rips the marker from Madeline’s hand and considers it. “Permanent, of course,” he says, showing it to her as though it will mean anything.

It doesn’t. She just smiles wider, pointing to her work. “I made him a boat like Harry, see,” she says, though it looks little like an actual ship and more like a crooked cheese loaf. 

“Lovely,” Louis says dryly. It’s funny, he actually really thinks it is, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to encourage it by laughing at her antics. “The problem, my love, is that your brother is not a coloring book. That is never going to come out of his skin.” Which, upon further review, may have been the point. Tattoos are permanent after all.

He’s exaggerating, but apparently Harry doesn’t know that. “Oh god,” he groans, blinking at the floor and turning his feet in like he’s the one being punished. “Louis, I’m sorry,” he whispers. When Louis touches his shoulder, Harry’s look turns frantic. “I got caught up in my paper and they were being quiet. I didn’t. Shit, I didn’t even think.”

“Babe, relax,” Louis instructs. “Go on. You’ll be late for your class.” He presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek before he says, “I’ll take care of this. It’s alright.”

“But it’s never going to come out,” Harry reminds him.

The thing is, it won’t for awhile. He’ll try to scrub as much off as he can, but the rest will have to fade. He would worry about toxicity, but his cousin’s little boy ate a piece of carbon paper before he was a year old, stained himself right up, and he was fine. Poison control assured her that it wasn’t going to kill him, so other than looking like something out of a Dickens novel for a bit, it was all fine. Jack is going to be just fine.

“Love,” Louis whispers, guiding him toward the door with a hand on his arm, “they’re kids. They do stupid things all the time. I could make you a list, but you’ll be late for your class. Trust me, it’s not the end of the world.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks again, torn between running away and sticking around to serve some kind of penance, it would appear. “I mean, I can cancel.”

“Madeline, please come say goodbye to Harry. Thank him for watching over you this afternoon as well, if you would.” 

She does as she’s asked, hugging Harry and kissing his cheek just as her father did. If Louis’ not mistaken, Harry holds on a little longer than necessary and Louis’ heart cracks into a couple of separate pieces, one for each of them.

“Alright, now please go to your room until I come to get you,” he says, narrowing his eyes when she opens her mouth to protest. “I will be there soon.”

While Louis is watching Madeline pout her way down the hall, Jack toddles over to Harry and reaches his arms out. He turns in time to see Harry swing Jack into the air and cradle him close, looking a bit startled when Jack clings to his neck and laughs. 

“Like you,” he says happily.

Sure, Louis also has a collection of tattoos up and down his arms and boys are meant to want to be like their fathers, but pointing that out now will make him look petty. He’ll save it for later, when Harry looks less prone to crying, when he can take the piss without Harry worrying that he’s ruined Louis’ children for life.

Finally, Harry smiles slightly. “Just like me, mate,” he acknowledges, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Jack’s head. “Only loads more handsome.”

“Don’t know about that,” Louis mutters under his breath. “Jack, can you please go wait in your room as well?”

Jack shrugs, as though he has no idea that anything is wrong in the world, and runs toward his room with a shout. He’s not the most steady on his feet yet, but he’s getting there, growing faster than Louis would like for him to, if he’s honest.

“I really am-,” Harry starts again, only to roll his eyes when Louis presses a finger to Harry’s lips.

“Don’t,” he insists. “They once filled the bathroom floor with water because the bathtub was their boat and obviously the boat needed water to float on.” He smiles fondly now, though he was furious at the time. “I was in the kitchen, making appointments with the doctor, and then I got distracted. It happens. I’m used to having them around and I still forget to worry when it’s too quiet sometimes. This wasn’t your fault.”

Though he doesn’t look entirely convinced, Harry nods. He shoulders his backpack and looks like he maybe wants to say something, but instead turns for the door. “Call me later, yeah?”

Stepping into Harry’s space, crowding him back against the door, Louis rests his hands on Harry’s hips and takes a nip at his jaw. “Definitely,” he answers, feeling his own eyes crinkle with his smile as he pulls away and Harry flushes for a whole different reason.

He’ll figure it out, Harry will. If he sticks around - which is still a big _if_ as far as Louis is concerned - he’ll learn which situations are a big deal and which ones aren’t. He’ll learn not to panic if no one is hurt, to be angry and loving in equal measure, to react to each situation differently. If Louis believes that Harry will get it, maybe he can believe that he’ll understand it all himself one day. It’s nice, the thought that they might be able to figure it out together.

*

He tells himself that it’s okay he doesn’t hear from Harry for a few days. They’re both busy, it’s fine. He barely notices that they’re not even texting, that Harry hasn’t responded to the few messages Louis has sent with more than a word and maybe an emoji. It doesn’t mean anything. 

He teaches melodramatic teenagers, but he isn’t one himself. Louis is a grown man, a responsible parent, and there is no reason for him to be making this into a big deal. Besides, it’s only casual. They’ve never even hinted at being exclusive and, sure, they’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, but that doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t have any time for anyone else.

“Just go over there,” Liam suggests easily, as though it’s a normal thing to do, when Louis mentions it one too many times on a Thursday afternoon.

“Right,” he answers, sarcasm dripping from his words. “He’s not had the time or the inclination for so much as a text message most of the week, but I’m sure he’ll be chuffed when I show up for tea.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Louis,” Liam exclaims, throwing his hands into the air helplessly. “You are the least hesitant person I have ever met. Just do it.”

The problem is that Louis isn’t sure he wants to know why Harry suddenly stopped coming over or calling. He watched the kids on Monday, by himself for the first time, and now he’s dropped off the map. The writing is pretty much on the wall, isn’t it? He doesn’t want to admit how disappointing that really is.

“The kids-,” he starts.

But Liam throws his arms out like he’s had enough of this conversation. “Shut up. I’ll watch the kids. Go to that Sainsbury’s over there by the campus, tell him you were just in the neighborhood and thought you’d stop in. Tell him we’re having a lads’ night tomorrow and you want him to come. He can bring his mates, whatever.”

“We’re not,” Louis says, blinking quite stupidly. “Are we having a lads’ night? I didn’t know that. I didn’t plan for that,” he says.

“Because I just decided,” Liam tells him, smiling when Jack toddles over to his chair and starts climbing into Liam’s lap. He’s always liked Liam, Jack has, and Louis thinks it must be the smile. The smile always fools people into thinking Liam is far less sneaky than he actually is. “Zayn’ll be up for it, I know. We haven’t done anything together, just us, in ages. Plus, we need to meet this guy if he’s got you this tied up in knots.”

Louis cringes at the thought. Meeting the kids is easy - they’re forgiving and accepting of just about anyone who smiles at them and offers to play with them a bit - but introducing Harry to his mates feels like it means something. Louis isn’t sure they mean anything at all at this point.

“I don’t have a sitter lined up,” he says again.

But Liam is having none of it. He gets like this sometimes, Liam does. Once he’s decided on something, no one is going to change his mind using logic or anything remotely resembling intelligence. He just plows on through like his will is a foregone conclusion or something.

“Liam, I can’t just assume that someone is going to up for watching my children. It’s a lot to ask anyone.”

“And you can’t always assume that they won’t be,” Liam shoots back. “Lou, your mum is always happy to watch them. If she can’t, I’ll ask Sophia. She’s always looking for a chance to spend quality time with your kids because it gives her an excuse to pester me about having a few of our own.” He says it like it’s annoying, but his smile says it’s the sweetest thing in the world. Louis is almost embarrassed for Liam, what with how gone he is for that girl of his.

He considers arguing again, just for the hell of it and because it’s Liam frankly, but Louis actually _does_ want to see Harry, so he grumbles his way into the foyer to grab a pair of shoes. “Please don’t damage my children while I’m gone,” he says.

Liam rolls his eyes and turns his attention to Jack, flicking Louis off when he’s sure the kids aren’t watching. 

 

As Louis shuts the door behind himself, he thinks maybe he should get better friends. Or maybe he should really start appreciating the ones he has, because they’re pretty alright most times.

*

He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he shows up at Harry’s dorm nearly an hour later. It doesn’t take nearly so long to get there, but he circled the lot a few times, then actually drove to Sainsbury’s, came back and circled the entire campus a few more times, before he got the nerve to park. Now he’s wondering if this is actually the dumbest thing he’s ever done in his life.

 _Are you home?_ he texts, because he’s not even sure which room is Harry’s, and doesn’t know how to get into the building even if he did. This is not a well-planned moment, not even close.

The response comes fairly quickly, much more so than some of Harry’s other messages this week. _Yes._

Before he loses his nerve, Louis types a quick, _Can we talk? I’m parked out front, like a creepy stalker._

He doesn’t receive another answer and is about to throw the car into reverse when he sees Harry walking out of the building, a bewildered look on his lovely face, in the rearview mirror.

Pocketing his keys, he gets out and knows he looks a bit sheepish, but honestly doesn’t know how to stop anymore. “Hi,” he greets softly.

Harry’s smile is familiar, a bit tight around the edges but still the same smile. “Hey,” he says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his skinnies. “To what do I owe this incredible surprise?” he asks, shoulders hunched as he looks at Louis through lowered lashes.

“Liam really,” Louis answers honestly before he can think better of it. “He’s watching the kids. I was driving him a bit crazy, I think,” he adds. 

“So he kicked you out of your own house? That’s impressive.”

“Are you upset with me?” Louis asks in lieu of agreeing that anything Liam does is impressive at all.

“No,” Harry answers immediately, taking a step forward and then swaying back again. “I’ve been busy.” 

“Oh.”

“My professor asked me to submit a few photos for an exhibit at the student gallery in a couple of weeks. Most of the other students have been working on theirs for weeks, but there was a last minute opening and he wants me to show my work and I’m kind of stressed about it,” is Harry’s rushed explanation.

While it’s a bit of a relief, knowing that Harry isn’t avoiding him purposely, it still stings a bit that he didn’t bother sharing such amazing news with Louis. 

“That’s great, Harry,” Louis says, swallowing any feelings other than genuine pride. “Really great. You must be proud.”

Some of the tension eases out of Harry’s smile, his eyes lighting up a bit. “Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat and casting a glance at a few passing students. “My room is kind of a tip right now, but do you want to come up for a cuppa?”

Without hesitation, Louis nods. “I would love to.”

The room is some whirlwind amalgamation of generic and completely Harry, all the furniture school issued, but the decor nothing but photographs, old vinyl records, and battered paperback books. Louis would love it, if it wasn’t so bleeding small.

“I’ll get the kettle on if you want to just,” Harry starts, motioning with one hand toward the bed, covered almost completely in photographs and textbooks. “I don’t know, just shove everything over. It’s not as if I have a system going.”

He’s careful with the pieces he moves out of the way, stacking them before he perches on the edge of the bed. It’s not exactly comfortable, but he supposes it’s functional. It’s more than he can say for his first bed at uni really.

The silence that settles between them is uncomfortable and Louis hates it because things have never really been uncomfortable between he and Harry. He doesn’t even know what it is - Harry did seem genuinely glad to see him - but it’s off. He should say something, but he doesn’t even know what that something would be, which throws Louis off even more. He’s never been one to lose his words.

Abruptly, as if reading Louis’ mind, Harry says, “Louis, I’m really sorry for what happened the other day.”

Louis blinks. “What happened the other day?” he asks, rifling through his mental rolodex for anything Harry might need to apologize for. Aside from the radio silence, but that isn’t an isolated incident, Louis doesn’t think.

“I literally forgot about your children while I was supposed to be watching them, and then they-,” Harry cuts himself off and shakes his head, cheeks flushing when he finally raises his head to meet Louis’ eye. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Are you kidding me?” Louis asks, shoulders relaxing as he fights a smile. “That’s why you’ve been avoiding me? Because my kids colored on each other with markers?”

“It was _permanent_!” Harry argues.

“Nothing but death is permanent,” Louis counters, thinking he sounds quite sage at the moment. “And they’re both alive and well.”

“How are you not mad that I completely forgot they were there?”

Again, Louis wants to laugh but it’s obvious that Harry is very concerned about what he perceives to be the greatest possible faux pas on Earth. Instead, he says, “I thought you’d decided that we weren’t worth the bother,” he admits.

“What? Why would I,” Harry stammers and then takes a deep breath. “I thought you were trying to get ahold of me to tell me you couldn’t see me anymore.”

This time, he doesn’t stop the laugh. “Harry,” Louis says, standing and moving through the limited space in the room to rest his hand on Harry’s hip. “This entire thing is new for you, isn’t it? Dating someone with kids? It’s not something you have an abundance of experience with?” 

Harry shakes his head sadly, as though it’s something to be ashamed of at nineteen. 

“I don’t expect you to be perfect with it. I told you, I still forget they’re there sometimes. Well, I don’t actually forget, but I get caught up doing something and, if they’re not under foot, I forget to check and make sure they’re not feeding the cat gummy bears or something.”

“You have a cat?” Harry asks suddenly, his hands resting on top of Louis’ against his own belt.

“Hm, Atticus” Louis nods, and then wrinkles his nose and tilts his head. “At least, I think we still have a cat. He spends most of his time in Jack’s room so I don’t see him much, but his food is still disappearing at a regular rate, so I’d say yes. We have a cat.”

Laughing a bit, Harry drinks from his tea. “I don’t want to give up on whatever this is we’re doing. Not at all,” he insists firmly, genuinely. “I just. This is going to sound really arrogant, I suppose, but I know what I’m doing with a fit guy. You I can handle.” He winks and Louis laughs a bit. “And I like kids. I’ve always wanted to have a family of my own. I mean, my mate Lou has an amazing little girl that I love to spend time with. I’m just realizing that I have no idea what I’m doing with them when it comes to anything more than playing with them, ya know?”

Standing, Louis leans around Harry and sets his cup on the table. “Do you like them? They don’t drive you crazy or make you immediately, irrationally angry?” Harry’s eyes grow wide as he shakes his head vigorously. “And you like me, yes?” This time, he nods his head just as furiously. “Then that’s all that matters, love. You don’t have to worry about parenting my kids. That’s my job. Just keep hanging out and let’s see where it goes, alright?”

Harry breathes deeply, seeming to consider it for a moment. “Yeah, alright,” he finally says, still a bit hesitant but smiling genuinely for once. “I think I can do that.”

When Louis rests his hands on Harry’s hips and pulls him forward, Harry squeaks in surprise, but winds his arms around Louis’ neck immediately. “And if you could please not avoid me next time you think there might be a problem, that would also be great.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologizes, flushing a bit. Could be because he’s a bit embarrassed, but Louis would like to believe it has more to do with the way Louis is stroking at Harry’s back, just beneath the hem of his tee shirt, at the moment. 

“Mm hm,” he hums, lifting onto his toes to press a kiss to the corner of Harry’s jaw, just below his ear. “I believe you, I think, but I might need a bit more convincing.” He rolls his hips a bit, smirking against Harry’s skin as Harry whimpers and sags further against the table.

If Louis thinks about it objectively, he’s not _that_ much older than Harry, but Harry kisses with a youthful exuberance Louis hasn’t felt in awhile. They’ve done this part, the snogging part, quite a few times now but Harry’s enthusiasm for it hasn’t changed. Louis quite hopes it never does, really.

Without the sounds of the kids playing in the other room, without worrying that they might wake up and need him when he’s in no position to help, Louis gets brave. He’s not exactly been celibate since Nathan moved out, but sex hasn’t been a regular part of his schedule, either. 

He thinks they’re headed in exactly the right direction until he reaches the button on Harry’s stupidly tight jeans and feels that giant hand clamping over his wrist. 

“Wait, wait,” Harry breathes into his mouth, pulling back while keeping a tethering hand on Louis’ neck. “You wanna do this now?”

Louis doesn’t even know what _this_ is, doesn’t know how far this is actually going to go, but he finds he doesn’t so much care at the moment. “Yeah, absolutely,” he assures Harry, pressing in closer to run his lips over the sharp line of Harry’s jaw.

“What about the kids?” Louis slumps back with a groan at Harry’s question, but Harry only smiles warily when he asks, “Aren’t they, like, waiting for you?”

He wonders briefly how much of this concern is natural for Harry and how much of it is extraordinary awareness due to previous incidents. He’s got one hand shoved under Harry’s shirt, the warm press of taut skinned stretched over hard muscle a bit too distracting to ponder the situation any further.

“Liam’s with them,” Louis assures him, pressing him back against the table until Harry collapses against it, sagging back so Louis can fit directly between his thighs. “Also, it’s been a rather long time since I’ve had someone else’s hand on my dick, so it probably won’t take that long anyway.”

Finally, a smile breaks through Harry’s concern, a long, hard laugh punching into the tension between them. “You really know how to market yourself, huh?” he teases, pulling Louis back to him and tangling his long fingers into the shaggy hair there. 

“Got you, didn’t I?” Louis asks, just as smugly as he drops to his knees and begins tugging on the legs of Harry’s jeans, eyes never leaving his face.

If he’s honest, the question goes so much deeper than simple, playful posturing.

Harry seems to realize that, his expression warming and softening as he drags his hand over Louis’ cheekbone. “Yeah, you got me.”

It’s equally exhilarating and terrifying how much Louis wants to believe him, wants to accept that Harry is his and he’s not going anywhere. He keeps fighting it, but now he can’t help but wonder why. There’s so much sincerity in this kid’s face, so much honesty shining back at Louis even now, while Harry is worrying his finger between his teeth and biting back the beaming grin. 

If he’s going to do this, he reckons he might as well enjoy it.

*

“It’s good to see you like this, mate,” Liam tells Louis for possibly the eightieth time tonight. He gets a bit gushy when he’s drunk, Liam does.

With a roll of his eyes, Louis kicks at him beneath the table, biting his bottom lip when Zayn flinches. “It’s not as though I’m the only one staying home at the weekends now, is it?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at both of the men across the table.

Though they still make an effort to see each other as often as possible, Liam and Zayn have both gotten married in the last couple of years. Between that and Louis’ own busy schedule, it’s just not as possible as it used to be.

“I like Harry,” Zayn says, letting his eyes wander up to the bar, where Harry and Niall are deep in some kind of conversation that mostly seems to involve Niall laughing a lot and Harry shifting his shoulders. “He’s good for you.”

Louis doesn’t roll his eyes this time, but it’s a near thing. “What does that even mean? He’s good for me.”

Zayn shrugs easily, smiling like Louis knows exactly what he means. Such an enigmatic asshole, Zayn is.

It’s Liam who chimes in with, “He makes you smile. You’ve smiled a lot tonight.”

“I smile a lot all the time,” Louis fires back. He’s not unhappy as a general rule, so he’s not sure where people keep coming up with this theory that he was miserable before Harry. “I don’t need a man to be happy.”

“Of course you don’t,” Liam fires back. 

“He’s barely a man anyway,” Zayn says, winking when Louis flicks him off. “I’m jokin’, mate. But you weren’t happy for awhile there. You went through a hard time, and that’s okay. It’s just nice to see you enjoying someone other than your kids again is all.”

Pouting is not a thing that a grown human should probably do, something in the back of Louis’ brain is whispering that, but it doesn’t stop him from doing it. He tries to bury it in his pint, but what the hell does Zayn - with his fancy degree in psychology and his years of experience in dealing with Louis - know anyway?

“Bottoms up, boys,” Niall shouts from too far away from the table. He’s not a polite drinker, Niall’s not, but he’s good fun anyway. Louis wonders if the mood wouldn’t turn a bit more maudlin around the table if he weren’t here.

A new, full pint appears in Louis’ eyeline, a strong, tattooed arm draped over his shoulder and a firm hand clutching his other shoulder. Harry’s breath is warm, sweet against Louis’ ear, when he whispers, “Last one for the night.”

It sends a shiver down his spine, but Louis is still fighting the urge to let Harry know that when he pivots in his chair and says, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Those beautiful green eyes narrow when Harry drops into the chair at Louis’ side. He doesn’t seem to care that there are other people at the table when he says, “I have big plans for you and I’m going to be very cross if you can’t rise to the occasion because your dick is too drunk, thank you.”

Niall guffaws and Liam laughs, but Zayn’s smile is just warm and fond and, frankly, humiliating when Louis meets his eyes across the table. 

Louis wants so badly to tell them all to fuck off and leave him alone, but Liam clears his throat and captures the attention of the table.

“So, Mr. Styles,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows and focusing his attention on Harry, ignoring the glare Louis sends him and the giggles Niall and Zayn don’t even bother trying to hide. “What are your intentions with our dear friend Louis?”

Zayn raises an eyebrow, smirks before he says, “Think he just made his intentions pretty clear, mate.”

While Louis feels his cheeks heating, Harry is laughing right along with Liam and Niall. Traitors, that’s what Louis is surrounded by here.

“You’re awful,” he declares, pointing accusing fingers all around. “The lot of you are just awful.” Harry smiles the brightest, nipping at the tip of Louis’ pointing finger when it’s aimed his way. “You’re the worst,” he adds, well aware that everyone at the table knows he means _best_.

“You think he’s bad now?” Niall chimes in, rolling his eyes before taking a long drink from his glass. “Wait ‘til you’re tryin’ to watch _Breaking Bad_ while he’s got some -,”

“That was _one_ time!” Harry interrupts, slapping his hand over Niall’s mouth with a desperate expression in his big eyes.

Though he relents, Niall snorts and shakes his head as Harry pulls his hand back. “One traumatizin’ time is enough, you kinky fuck.”

A part of Louis is very interested in hearing more about Harry’s kinky tendencies. A larger part would rather never explore anything about Harry’s sexual proclivities in front of their friends, thanks.

While Liam abandons his original question in favor of discussing the football with Niall, Harry scratches his nails against the back of Louis’ head and leans in close. “Most of my intentions aren’t that noble, I’m afraid,” he whispers against the shell of Louis’ ear. 

Squirming, Louis nudges his elbow into Harry’s side. “Shut it.” It would probably be a more convincing command if he wasn’t smiling so widely while blushing so deeply.

“A few are alright, though,” Harry promises, pressing a kiss to the corner of Louis’ jaw. When Louis tells him to stop again, Harry only hums. “What if I don’t want to stop?”

“I’m begging you,” Louis says, wiggling his eyebrows as he leans away to take a drink and aim a small smile straight at Harry. 

“Promising as that sounds,” Harry says, clearing his throat, showing his first sign of faltering all night. “Um, I think you’ll find that, while I really do love the thought of you begging, really quite a lot, but I really am quite hard to get rid of.”

The super cynical part of Louis’ brain mutters, _we’ll see about that,_ but his mouth actually manages to ask, “Are you?”

“Jesus Christ,” Zayn interrupts, looking thoroughly disgusted when Louis meets his eye across the table. “Just go home, both of you. You’re making me sick.”

When they were ganging up on him, Louis hated the embarrassment. Now that it’s Zayn whose cheeks are blazing, face twisted in abject discomfort, it’s pretty hilarious.

“What happened to you being happy I’m happy?” he challenges.

Zayn takes a slow drink, head shaking as he does. “It’s enough to know it. Don’t need to see it.”

He’s not entirely sure he should admit it, but there is a certain thrill for Louis in grossly over-the-top public displays of affection. Nathan was always a bit embarrassed by the way Louis loved to hang all over him, especially when he was a bit tipsy. While Louis thinks he shouldn’t be comparing, the way Harry is leaning into Louis’ attention, running his hands over Louis’ back and hip while Louis nuzzles into his neck - mostly to irritate Zayn, but also because Harry smells amazing - is an absolute turn on.

“We should probably head out soon,” Harry murmurs against the top of Louis’ head after Niall takes to gagging at them. It’s wholly exaggerated and hilarious, but Harry’s idea is good, too.

Nodding, Louis reaches for his wallet and scoots out of his seat. “Yes, that is a great idea, yes,” he says.

Harry shoots out of his chair like someone’s shot him in his tiny, perfect, little ass. “Perfect. I’ll go call a cab. Pleasure to meet you both,” he adds with a wave toward Liam and Zayn before he scuttles out of the pub.

Louis laughs, shaking his head, as he watches Harry go. That kid is going to be the death of him, it’s hardly worth denying it anymore.

“We’re still on for hanging out later this week, yeah?” he asks Zayn as he rounds the corner of the table.

Wrapping his hand around Louis’ wrist, Zayn nods. It’s this thing he does sometimes, sagely nodding, all pointed and knowing, like he doesn’t need words to communicate at all. The bitch of it is that Louis totally understands him.

By the time he makes his way outside, Harry is standing at the curb with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He’s looking both ways, up and down the street, humming to himself under his breath, his eyes lighting up when Louis nudges him with a shoulder.

“Hey you,” he greets, wrapping a hand around Louis’ hip and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Hey yourself,” Louis returns, slipping his thumb into the belt loop at Harry’s back. “So, I’ve got about an hour before I have to pick the kids up from my mum’s. Are we going to yours or mine?”

The cab pulls to a stop in front of them as Harry shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to me in the least, long as I’m with you.”

Right now, Louis has to agree with that sentiment wholeheartedly. Just being with Harry seems to be more than enough.

*

“It’s really inspiring,” Louis compliments, taking a step closer to the gigantic photographic, so elegantly lit against the white wall. “The colors and the lines,” he adds.

Harry snorts at his side, clutching to Louis’ elbow and drawing him back. “You have no idea what you’re saying, do you?” 

With a shrug, Louis offers him a slight smile. “Not really,” he admits. “But it’s great that your work is on display like this,” he adds, leaning into Harry’s side to assure he’s glad to be here.

It really _is_ impressive. That he’s been given the opportunity to show one piece, let alone the three before Louis now, is fantastic. Louis may not understand art in any way, but he does appreciate Harry’s accomplishment. 

“Do you like it?” Harry asks, his smirk still evident against Louis’ ear even if Louis doesn’t turn to see it there.

“I just don’t get art,” Louis reminds him for what seems like the fiftieth time tonight.

But Harry shakes his head and grabs Louis’ shoulders, turning him until their face to face. “That’s not what I asked. People get so hung up on art _meaning_ something, on it being this abstract thing that only a few pretentious assholes can understand, but what it really boils down to is whether or not it makes you feel something.” He spins Louis back around, facing him toward the photograph again. “Does your gut tell you that it’s beautiful or hideous or uncomfortable? Does it make you smile or laugh or, I don’t know, want to vomit? Don’t think about it. Don’t try to figure out what it is or what kind of statement I was trying to make. Just look at it.”

The thing is, Louis has no idea what it is. The title of the piece - _Shattered Dreams_ \- could literally mean just about anything. It’s hard to feel any way about something when he doesn’t know what the thing is in the first place. 

“It makes me feel confused,” he finally says as honestly as he can. “And anxious because it confuses me and I feel like I should understand something that I’m just not getting. I’m sure you’re very good at what you do, but I can’t disconnect my brain from my feelings like that.”

One of Harry’s broad, warm hands runs up and down the length of Louis’ spine, dragging a current of want along with it. “Thank you,” is all Harry says, pressing a soft kiss to Louis’ cheekbone. “That’s something. Confusion and anxiety are perfectly valid things to feel. You want me to tell you what it is?”

Again, Louis shrugs. Of course he mostly wants Harry to tell him, but he also kind of wants to turn in Harry’s arms and cling to him. That need feels even more overwhelming at the moment.

He’s about to when a deep voice speaks above them. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Mr. Styles,” the man says.

Louis turns to find a handsome older bloke in a button down and a cardigan, a neatly trimmed beard and a lecherous smile on his face. Louis dislikes him on principle - pretentious, hipster principle - alone. Principle and the fact that he’s looking at Harry like he’d very much like to devour him whole at the moment.

“Thanks, Profes-, um, Ben,” Harry fumbles a bit, smiling shyly as he runs his hand down the line of Louis’ spine. “Lou,” he says, turning so they’re both facing the man now. “This is Ben, the professor that added my work to the show,” he introduces.

Louis takes the offered hand and nods politely, though his every instinct wants to bite at Harry’s skin until this Ben fellow knows that Harry is spoken for. It’s an intense sort of reaction, one that takes Louis a bit by surprise actually. “It’s nice to meet you,” he lies.

“Ben, this is Louis,” Harry adds quickly, so properly that it makes Louis’ heart do an embarrassing little flip. He’s never been so turned on by manners. “My, um-,”

“Boyfriend,” Louis answers for him, and it’s a bold declaration but he’ll be damned if he’s going to let this Ben person think Harry is available to him in any way. 

He would worry about speaking out of turn, but Harry beams as though Louis’ just gifted him something very expensive and impressive, so he lets himself lean into the hand on his back and feel the warm rush of something very pleasant in his belly.

“Boyfriend is it?” Ben asks, raising a very skeptically interested eyebrow at Harry. “Didn’t know there was a boyfriend now.”

Harry only offers a simple shrug in response. 

Ben doesn’t stick around for long after that, flitting away on the excuse of needing to speak with someone he’s just seen across the room. 

When he’s gone, Louis says, “He wants very much to sleep with you,” but it doesn’t seem to surprise Harry at all. Which, of course, turns Louis’ mind in another direction altogether. “He’s already slept with you. You’ve already. You shagged your professor? You absolute cliche!”

“Shush,” Harry tells him, eyes darting around to make sure no one’s overheard them. “I’ve not shagged anyone in this room,” he insists, shaking his head emphatically. “Stop it.” Off of Louis’ raised eyebrow, Harry wilts a bit. “We didn’t, we maybe snogged a bit at a couple of parties, but we didn’t actually, you know. There was a minute where I thought we might, but it didn’t happen.”

Louis accepts it, laces his fingers through Harry’s as they move on to the next exhibit, but his mind is racing now. He wonders if Harry’s always had a thing for older men - Ben is _much_ older than Louis, he’s sure - or if it’s a university thing. Is it a fetish or a phase and does that matter at all? Louis doesn’t know if it bothers him that he’s not the first or if it should. Is this a kinky thing for Harry? Is that why he wanted to call Louis in the first place? 

He waits until later, when they’re walking down the street toward Louis’ car, still hand in hand, to ask in the lightest, most teasing tone he can manage. “So, you like your men a bit older, do you?”

Harry’s hand tightens in his as he shakes his head and rolls his eyes toward the sky. “I’ve always liked older people in general, but it’s not, like, a thing,” he says, as though he’s been practicing this answer for ages. “I’ve just always been the youngest in every group I’ve ever hung around in, so it makes sense that everyone I’m attracted to is older. It’s not, I don’t get off on it.”

“No?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow and tugging Harry’s hand until they’re closer to the nearby building. “Never found it the least bit attractive to have some older man order you around a bit?” he pushes, not even sure _why_ he’s pushing. He’s still not even sure how he feels about Harry dating older men as a rule. “Don’t ever just want to be put in your naive, youthful place?”

He presses a hand against Harry’s chest, until his back is flat against the wall, until Louis can step right up to his side and rise onto his toes. He gives Harry’s curls a tug, lips brushing the curve of his ear, breath fanning hot over his cheek. “The idea of being a good little boy doesn’t turn you on just a bit?”

His own voice is dangerously low and it’s obvious by the way Harry’s eyes go slightly glassy, his breath punching out of his chest in short bursts, that it does _something_ for him. 

“Of course I like it,” Harry finally responds, voice ragged as he slumps against the bricks. 

Louis releases his hair, takes a minimal step back, and smirks with the satisfaction that he isn’t wrong. He lets Harry lace their fingers together when he’s ready, continuing their walk across the campus.

“It’s not because I have some older man fetish, though,” Harry says, somewhat suddenly. “I don’t have any unresolved daddy issues that I know of, I’m just kind of submissive sometimes. So, yeah, I get off on being good for someone, not on the age of the person I’m being good for, if that makes sense.”

“Jesus,” Louis sighs, because really. 

He’s fought it and kicked against it and second guessed it from the start, but he’s not sure he’s ever met anyone who is simultaneously a walking wet dream come true and a great fucking human being, not like Harry is. He’s remarkable.

Mistaking Louis’ silent introspection for dissention, Harry squeezes his hand and clears his throat. “I mean, I’m not opposed to calling you daddy, if that’s what you’re-,”

“No! What?” Louis interrupts, horrified and a bit nauseous at the thought. “No! Why? No!”

He doesn’t even care that Harry is laughing at him as he fishes his keys out of his pocket in front of his residence hall. His _children_ call him that - and he loves it, he does - but the last thing he wants is for his boyfriend to do the same. He knows some people are able to compartmentalize fantasies like that, but he is not one of those people. It’s just so, no. That is not what Louis is into, absolutely not.

“It’s a no on the daddy kink, got it,” Harry concedes, smiling as he rests a hand on Louis’ waist. “Is your mum keeping the kids all night or do you need to go get them?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject as he spins his keys around his fingers.

Louis finds he can’t help smiling back at Harry’s general face when he answers. “They’re at hers all weekend, actually. I have a lot of marking that needs to be done by Monday so she’s being very helpful.”

Harry’s eyes twinkle as he runs his tongue over his lower lip, so obliviously seductive that Louis nearly knocks him down right here in the street. “So you could maybe come up for a bit then?”

They haven’t talked about it, but Louis has been planning on this night being something kind of special for awhile now, or at least since Harry invited him to his gallery opening. Declaring himself Harry’s boyfriend was a good start, but there is more in store. 

“I could,” he nods and then returns Harry’s smirk with one of his own. “But I don’t actually want to.”

“Oh.” The way Harry’s face falls is way too satisfying.

“I mean,” Louis responds, stepping into Harry’s space again, “if this is the first time I’m gonna actually fuck you, it’s not going to be in your tiny uni bed.” He waits until Harry visibly swallows, and then adds, “I mean, we can go pack a bag if you want, but then we’re going back to mine.”

There’s no hesitation when Harry nods enthusiastically and nearly pulls Louis off of his feet. “Deal.”

*

As it turns out, Harry isn’t lying about having some submissive tendencies, writhing and whining and begging and preening under Louis’ instructions and praise for what feels like hours. He can turn the tables as well, manhandling Louis and growling against his ear in a way that Louis is certain actually melts his spine. 

It is, by leaps and bounds and miles, thirty-six hours of the best sex Louis has ever had in his entire life.

In between, there’s time spent watching telly, throwing crackers and fruit at each other until the bed is full of crumbs and Harry is flailing off the edge and squawking when he hits the floor. There’s childhood stories shared in hushed voices, discussions of politics and philosophy, soft touches and moments of real intimacy. 

It’s been the weirdest, and the absolute best, day and a half Louis has ever spent with another person he is not related to. If he’s genuinely honest, it’s the best four months he’s ever spent with anyone apart from his own children.

It’s a terrifying revelation, this one that he’s all in with Harry, that he’s fully lost his grip on casual, that he wants to pursue more, but Louis is happy. For the first time since Nathan left, he’s allowing himself to be happy, for himself first and foremost, and it’s a pretty damn good feeling.

*

Louis thinks that if the photography thing doesn’t work out for Harry, he could have a successful career planning children’s birthday parties. 

When Madeline said she wanted her party to be rainbow themed - _I don’t care what we do. I just want rainbow cake._ \- Louis was a bit lost. The cake was a given, but he was perfectly happy to just serve that with some punch and call it a day. His mum and sisters would come, obviously, and that would be that.

What he hadn’t accounted for, foolishly, was the fact that Madeline is in school now. She has actual friends who aren’t her aunties, whom she wants to invite to things like birthday parties. Louis realized this was going to require some more planning than he’d originally intended, or he realized it after Harry scoffed at his idea of putting on a film and letting them watch it while they ate their rainbow cake.

So now Louis’ back garden looks like a Pride parade threw up all over it and it is magnificent. 

He borrowed a couple of folding tables from work, supervised as Zayn and Perrie set them up in different stations as Harry instructed last night. In the meantime, Niall and Harry prepared everything the children would need for various craft stations, the party morphing from a simple rainbow theme into an art party at some point during the planning.

Louis was in charge of chopping brightly colored fruits into cubes and arranging various miniature bottles of kool-aid in accordance with the rainbow picture Harry had printed for him to follow. He’d dipped pretzels into dyed chocolate, as well, creating a plethora of colorful snacks for the children to be all sugared up on before the cake even arrives. 

Through all of the decorating last night, Liam and Sophia helped corral the kids inside the house, to try and keep Madeline from seeing her party before the big day. Once everyone was gone, though, Louis didn’t have the heart to keep it from her any longer. He laid Jack down to sleep and then hoisted her into his arms.

_”Do you want a little peek, Pretty Girl?” he asked._

_She returned his mischievous smile and nodded, shoveling her hair out of her face as Louis carried her through the kitchen and toward the back garden. She nibbled her fingers in nervous excitement as he unlocked the door and pushed it open with his shoulder._

_Louis was quiet, watching Madeline’s face as she took in the surroundings as best she could in the fairy lights Harry and Zayn had strung around the garden. Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushing as she saw the place set up just for her, the special artist’s apron and beret Harry had gotten her._

_“What do you think, hm? Did Harry do a good job?”_

_Attention fully on Louis, eyes wide and so, so happy, she smiled brightly. “The best job. I am so excited for my party, Daddy.”_

It was all Louis could do to keep his own tears at bay as he kissed the side of her head and carried her back into the house, laying her in his bed before he set about getting himself ready for sleep. It’s been a tradition since her first birthday, to let her sleep next to him - them, before Nathan left - and wake her up with tickles and a rendition of Happy Birthday that gets sillier every year.

Last night, he thought this was going to be a great party. Now that it’s in full swing, children running rampant all over the yard as some of their parents mingle together on the outskirts, his friends in attendance along with his family, he’s sure of it. 

He rests against the door frame, beer bottle in hand, and watches Jack playing with a couple of Louis’ sisters and his brother near the fence. Liam, Zayn, and Niall are playing football with a few of the kids in Madeline’s class while his mother and stepfather laugh at one of the smaller tables with Harry’s mom and stepdad. Their appearance was a surprise, but Louis has relaxed quite a bit since meeting them at the door earlier today. He might forgive Harry for not telling him they were coming later.

Over by the backdrop Harry set up last night - a white tablecloth hung over the fence, a paint can tipped at the top corner and spilling a barrage of brightly colored cloths like a rainbow along the stark fabric - Madeline and two of her schoolmates, Olivia and Emmy, are holding mustaches and glasses on sticks against their faces, feather boas wrapped around their necks, and smiling for the pictures Harry is snapping. He hasn’t put his camera down all day, hasn’t stopped capturing all of it with a critical eye and a bright smile.

Louis couldn’t have done this without Harry, wouldn’t have even thought of most of it, but certainly wouldn’t have been able to pull it all off on his own. The school year is winding down and Louis is busy preparing finals and grading projects, and Jack has been going through a needy, clingy phase in the last few weeks. 

He doesn’t know how, with all of the work Harry has also been doing for school himself, he found the time to help Louis, to know Madeline and what she likes so incredibly well, but he’s done it. While Louis wasn’t really paying attention, Harry has figured out exactly how to make Madeline’s special day absolutely perfect.

“She told me we have to stick together, us big sisters,” a woman says at Louis’ shoulder.

He turns to find Harry’s older sister, Gemma, standing behind him. She’s holding a water bottle between her fingers and watching her brother as well. 

“Suppose she’s not wrong,” Louis tells her with a smile. “Both of your little brothers can be right brats sometimes.”

Gemma laughs at that, nodding her concession. “You don’t know the half of it,” she tells him. “But I’m more than happy to tell you as many stories as you want to hear.”

Louis follows her through the yard and pulls a chair out to drop down opposite her. “I want to hear them all,” he says honestly, because there’s not much he wants more in life than to know everything about Harry. 

She weaves elaborate tales of a young Harry, clad only in his diaper, sitting in a cardboard box for hours while he pretended he was driving a rocket ship to the moon and screeching every time he nearly steered it into some imaginary debris, his mother asking him repeatedly to please stop with that horrible shrieking. She tells him of the band Harry started in the garage when he was fourteen, the sounds of what seemed to be dying animals coming from their garage, and their mother asking him repeatedly to please stop with that horrible shrieking. Then there’s the story of she and her mother coming home from shopping to hear Harry in the upstairs bathroom with one of his schoolmates, his mother pounding on the door and asking him to, well, the theme seems to be the same.

In the twenty minutes or so that Gemma paints these beautiful pictures of Harry’s childhood, Louis deduces that he’s always been a loud child, sometimes messy, most times nude, and always incredibly loud. It’s funny, he thinks, that the Harry he knows is so quietly introspective most of the time.

“I was really skeptical about this thing he’s doing with you, ya know,” Gemma says, quite abruptly, while Louis is still chuckling over a story of Harry playing a mouse in a nursery school play when he was four. “I told him he shouldn’t bother, if I’m honest.”

It sobers him quickly, Louis clearing his throat as he toys with the label on his beer bottle and instinctively looks about the yard to find Harry sitting on the ground with Jack on one leg and Louis’ little brother on the other, playing what appears to be peek-a-boo and laughing as freely as both small boys are.

Gemma rests a hand over Louis’, forces him to stop peeling the paper off of his beer, and smiles softly when he meets her eye. “It wasn’t personal, I promise. I just. Harry’s the baby in our family, ya know? He’s this incredibly charming and charismatic attention addict, but he’s still the baby and I’m still the protective big sister.” She shakes her head, follows Louis’ gaze to her brother in the yard and blinks a bit as she watches him. “This is the first time he’s ever been away from home, so I thought he was fucking it right up when he said he was seeing someone older, someone with kids. Told him to give himself some time to figure out who he was and what he wanted before he tried to settle down like a real grown up all of the sudden.”

It’s not a foreign thought, this one that Gemma is expressing. It’s not one he’s not had himself a few times, especially in the early days of their relationship. Back when he spent every free second obsessing over whether or not Harry could or would stick around, if he should even, he told himself all the things Gemma apparently told Harry. If he’s honest, he still tells himself that sometimes.

But Harry is still here.

“Is it wrong if I say I’m glad he didn’t listen to you?” Louis asks, his voice much smaller than he intended it to be.

Snorting, Gemma takes another drink and shakes her head, turning her attention back to Louis. “I don’t tell him this much - he’s too up himself already, if you ask me, the arrogant little shit - but he’s a good kid. He’ll be a good man someday, I reckon. I think you’re really lucky that he’s choosing to become that with you.”

It’s a huge statement, that is. Louis doesn’t take it lightly as he nods and finishes the beer in the bottom of his bottle. While Louis usually feels like he’s still learning things about life, still becoming a grown up himself, Harry is actually on the precipice of figuring out who he is and who he wants to be. Louis is trying to remind himself, daily really, that those are Harry’s choices to make and he can only be along for the ride, considers himself lucky to be.

“I think I am, too,” he admits sincerely, nodding his head distractedly.

“Gemma!” Madeline screams, racing toward the table with her friends in toe. “Can you help us make princess crowns now?”

She throws herself at Gemma’s legs, smiling brightly as Gemma returns the grin and pets the top of her head. “Right,” she says, pushing her chair back and effortlessly swinging Madeline into her arms. “Let’s make ourselves some tiaras then, shall we? C’mon, ladies,” she adds, offering a hand to Olivia and winking at Emmy as they head off to one of the art stations.

Louis watches them go, a warm fondness settling in his belly until he feels a strong arm wrapping around his neck, lips pressing a kiss into the top of his head.

“Quite affectionate this afternoon, Zayn,” he teases, laughing when Harry whines and drops into the chair beside Louis. “Hello, love,” Louis says as Harry leans in to kiss him quickly. 

He’s flushed, Harry is, content smile on his lips and an easy angle to his shoulders as he slumps back in his chair and rests his camera on the table. “Kids are exhausting,” he announces.

“You don’t say,” Louis says on a laugh. He rests his hand on Harry’s knee and squeezes a bit, enjoying the sight of him in the mid-afternoon sunlight. “This place is going to be a bitch to clean up,” he says when his fondness threatens to overwhelm him.

“Hm,” Harry hums, tilting his face back and letting his eyes fall shut. “Why d’you think I invited my mum?”

“Yeah, we’re going to have a conversation about that,” Louis reminds him, smiling a bit when Harry shrugs his shoulders and folds his hands over his stomach. “You don’t just spring something like that on someone, Harold.”

Carelessly, Harry swings his huge feet up into Louis’ lap, eyes still stubbornly closed. “Figured if I had to meet yours today, you had to meet mine. Only fair, innit?”

When he puts it like that, Louis supposes Harry is right. If he’s honest, Louis kind of forgot Harry hadn’t met his mum before today. He’s had so many conversations with her about Harry since they started dating that it kind of felt like they already knew each other. The way she hugged Harry as soon as she walked in the door today only cemented that idea.

“She likes you, by the way,” Harry adds. “Told me a bit ago and everything.”

To be fair, Louis has only spent a few minutes talking to Harry’s mum and stepdad today, has done his best to avoid any long, drawn out conversations that might prove awkward or uncomfortable on this already-stressful and busy day. That she’s liked what she’s seen of him is encouraging, though.

“Mine would adopt you, I think, if she didn’t already have so many of her own,” he says, fairly certain that was true even before today.

It occurs to him that his mum really loved Nathan, as well. She treated him like her own son for years, figured him into all of their plans, and never had a bad word to say about him, even when he and Louis were fighting. He suspects it has something to do with supporting Louis’ decisions, as she’s always done, but he thinks about his own kids and wonders if he’ll be able to embrace their partners in the same way in the future. 

“HAZZA!” Niall’s voice shouts above all the noise of the afternoon. When both Louis and Harry looks up, he’s dribbling a football between his feet and waving his arm in invitation. “Stop being lazy fuc-,”

He’s interrupted by Liam smacking a hand into his gut, exasperated in his declaration of, “There are children here, you idiot.”

Louis laughs as Niall turns his attention to tackling Liam while Zayn watches them affectionately. “Should we go save him?”

“Might as well,” Harry says, sighing as he pushes up out of his chair. 

Might as well, Louis thinks as he follows Harry around the tables and over to the side of the garden. Might as well.

*

One of the strangest things about parenthood, Louis thinks, is how introspective it’s made him. He’s still blown away by the big things, of course, like watching his children take their first steps and hearing them say their first words. Those things will live forever in Louis’ mind, but it’s the little things that knock him back more than he ever expected.

After a long day of playing as hard as she could, Madeline dutifully followed Gemma and Lottie around the garden, cleaning up with a smile on her face as she prattled on about her favorite things about the afternoon and how it was the best birthday ever. When Harry told her to go play with her aunties, that she didn’t have to tidy up because she was the birthday girl, she shook her head and went on helping.

She’s frustratingly stubborn at time, makes Louis want to pull his hair out on some days, but she’s equally determined to be helpful, to make a contribution even though she’s probably not aware that’s what she’s doing yet. Sometimes Louis is sure that he’s fucking these kids up, and sometimes he thinks he’s doing better than okay. And sometimes he marvels at the way they’re turning out alright, whether because of or in spite of him.

Once everyone’s gone home, once the house has fallen silent and Harry has helped Louis get the kids’ ready for bed, it doesn’t take Madeline long to drop right off. Louis barely makes it through a few pages of her book before she’s sound asleep, peacefully still and beautiful with her new, stuffed Olaf - a gift from Louis’ twin sisters - clutched tightly against her chest.

“Happy five years, my love,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before flipping the light out and moving across the hall.

He stops in the doorway, punched directly in the stomach by the image he finds in Jack’s room. He napped earlier this evening, while everyone was busy straightening up, so he hasn’t dropped off as quickly as his sister, but his eyes are growing heavy nonetheless.

They’re sitting in the big, blue bean bag chair beneath Jack’s Spiderman nightlight. He’s cradled closely to Harry’s chest, his favorite frog plushie smashed between his face and Harry’s body. Harry is reading _Goodnight, Moon_ in a low voice, stopping between each page turn to kiss Jack’s head. If either of them notice Louis is there, they don’t let on to it, caught up in their own bedtime world.

Harry reads the entire book, though Jack fell asleep a few pages before the end, and then snuggles him close. When he does stand, it’s fluid and graceful, more so than he was while they were playing football earlier for sure. Jack cuddles into Harry’s neck and clings a bit when Harry tries to lie him down in his bed. 

“You’re alright, babe,” Harry whispers, kissing Jack’s cheek before rubbing his back and making certain that his frog is tucked into his side securely. “Dream sweet, yeah?”

Louis tries his best not to show his emotions when Harry walks toward him, squeezes his hip, and heads quietly into the hall. It feels big, this moment, and Louis doesn’t know if it should. Maybe it’s nothing, but it feels huge.

When he turns Jack’s light out, he finds Harry stretching and yawning in the hall. All he can manage is a smile, afraid his voice will break and betray him if he speaks.

“I should get going,” Harry says first, cracking his back and wincing at the sound along with Louis. “Um, I have a ton of revision to do for finals,” he starts.

“Don’t,” Louis interrupts, stepping forward without really thinking about it. 

Harry blinks. “Don’t revise for my finals?” he asks, confused.

“No,” Louis amends with a shake of his head, dazed a bit by Harry’s general face. “I mean, obviously you have to revise tomorrow, but just.” He stops himself, fighting to remember what he was trying to say as Harry stares at him with twinkling green eyes. “I meant don’t go,” he adds, swallowing his nerves. 

“Yeah?” Harry asks, face brightening through the sleepy expression he’s wearing. “Alright.”

It’s a step they’ve not taken yet, spending a night together while the kids are around. If he’s honest, Louis has been hesitant to let the kids see them together as anything other than mates. Sure, they know Harry is around a lot, but he’s scared shitless as to how Madeline especially is going to handle Louis in another relationship. She doesn’t talk about Nathan anymore, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to embrace someone else. 

At the moment, though, Louis can’t help thinking it might be alright.

*

It’s not alright at all. 

Well, it is for awhile. Harry doesn’t spend every night with them, especially not while he’s finishing up the term and preparing the flat he’s going to be sharing with Niall for the summer. He’s busy, as Louis is with finishing up his own school year, and it’s not as though Harry’s moved in or anything. He pops by when he can, though, when they both have fairly light schedules, and it’s nice. It’s just really nice to fall asleep next to someone, to wake up with a person Louis genuinely cares about lying warm at his side.

They’ve not tried to keep it a secret from the kids, but Louis has made a conscious effort not to flaunt it, either. They share small touches, sure, but they’re careful to wake up before either of the children and keep their hands to themselves, mostly, in front of them. Once in awhile, he’ll catch Madeline eyeing them suspiciously, but she hasn’t said anything. If Louis knows anything about his daughter, it’s that she’s not one to hold her tongue if something is bothering her, so he assumes things are okay.

They’re a week into the summer hols and Louis couldn’t be happier. Not having a set schedule in the summer is probably his favorite thing about teaching - or one of them, anyway. The sun is just starting to rise outside the open window, a slight breeze ruffling through the curtains, as Harry stirs beside Louis.

His hand, warm and wide, drifts over Louis’ hip, rubbing innocently at Louis’ stomach until it’s very decidedly not innocent at all. 

“Morning,” Louis grunts, rolling his hip against the flat of Harry’s palm, definitively interested in this wakeup call. 

“Shhh,” Harry chides, though it sounds like more of a moan. Louis’ dick is more than okay with that. 

If there’s a silver lining, it’s that he’s not too worked up yet, but it’s still more than a bit annoying when the door flies open and Madeline announces, “It’s morning!”

Harry’s hand draws back like he’s been burnt, his face turning to the pillow as he groans in disappointment or frustration or general lack of happiness for the morning. Louis gets it, he does, but there’s not much he can do about it right now.

“Morning, love,” he says, smiling awkwardly as Madeline stands in the doorway, considering them. “Can you go back to your room for a minute please?”

Her nose scrunches up, head tilting in confusion as she considers the sight before her. Thankfully, there’s nothing showing, sheets and blankets covering anything Louis would be mortified for her to see. It’s still disturbing to her little eyes, he can tell.

“Why is Harry in your bed?” she asks.

Harry’s shoulders stiffen a bit at Louis’ side, and Louis isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say. There’s no handbook for this.

Instead of retreating as she’s been told, Madeline takes a step forward. Her brow narrows, eyes never leaving the back of Harry’s head. “Are you boyfriend snuggling?”

Though Harry snickers into his pillow, Louis gapes. “Am I what?” he asks.

“Lottie said that’s what she was doing with her boyfriend on the couch at Nana's house,” Madeline explains, completely nonplussed.

For a brief moment, Louis forgets about Harry at his side. He nearly forgets his daughter standing in front of him as he silently vows death on whatever knobhead her sister was ‘boyfriend snuggling’ on his mother’s couch. He also vows to have a word with his mother for allowing such an abomination. 

“Babe,” Louis finally says when Madeline is close enough to lift into his arms and rest at his side. He kisses her head and watches as Harry turns his face to open his eyes at them. “Sometimes I like it when Harry sleeps over because I like Harry very much, alright?” Madeline looks thoughtful but says nothing, so Louis adds, “He’s a special sort of mate.”

“Was Poppy a special mate?” she asks.

Louis doesn’t look to Harry, but he hears the intake of breath nonetheless. “Sort of, yes,” he admits, keeping his attention solely fixed on the wide eyes that are staring back at him from this angelic face that he really does love more than anything in the world. 

Finally, Madeline says, “But Poppy made you sad,” in a very low tone. “I don’t like it when you’re sad, Daddy.”

“Oh, Love,” Louis breathes, wishing to anything he could kick Harry out and have a moment with his daughter right now. Seeing as Harry’s not wearing anything, he settles for pretending he’s not here. “Listen to me, alright?” He holds her round cheeks in his hands and waits until he’s sure he’s got her full attention. “For a very long time, before Poppy made me sad, he made me very, very happy. Harry makes me very, very happy, too. And that’s alright, isn’t it? We all love having Harry around, don’t we?”

He knows he’s said it wrong when she catches her bottom lip between her teeth and shakes her head. “He made me sad, too, when he went away.”

For months now, Louis has convinced himself that the memory of Nathan is fading, that the pain isn’t there anymore. He assumed that Madeline was past it, that it was true when everyone told him that she would eventually forget and get over it. He thought for certain that this wouldn’t be a problem and now that it very clearly is, as clearly as anything has ever been on her honest and open face, Louis feels the pieces around the edges of his heart crumbling.

“I know he did, little love. I know,” he acknowledges, cuddling her closer and pressing a series of kisses to her hair and forehead. “But we don’t have to be sad. We still have each other, don’t we? We always have each other, and Jack. All three of us, we’ll never have to worry about that, will we? A team, we are.”

She smiles a bit at that, but it falls quickly. “Just us,” she says with finality, narrowing her eyes at Harry, who looks like a whipped puppy. “We’re a team, me and Daddy and Jack.”

It’s clear that she’s implying Harry is not welcome on the team and Louis has to swallow and blink before he can speak without his voice cracking. “Babe, can you please go into the lounge and watch some telly for a bit? I need to talk to Harry for a minute.”

What hurts the most, Louis thinks, is that Madeline looks sad when she waves at Harry, as though she doesn’t want to tell him goodbye, but it has to be done. She moves from the room with none of the joy she usually bounces around the house with, and Louis doesn’t bother to fight the tears once she’s gone.

“Lou,” Harry starts, his own voice catching a bit.

“Harry, I,” Louis starts and then turns his face to the ceiling blinking it back. “I don’t know what to do here.” He reaches for Harry’s hand, clinging to it. “I thought she’d be fine. Everyone told me she’d be fine.”

As Harry struggles to sit, Louis doesn’t look at him, can’t look at him. He doesn’t know how to do this, doesn’t actually want to do it, but it’s sinking so low in his stomach, like inevitability.

“I’m going to go,” Harry says softly, throwing the covers away and standing slowly to his feet. “Just, I don’t know.” His voice breaks as he reaches for his pants, the ones in the bag he brought with him because this is a thing they do now, a thing they plan for and enjoy doing together. “Call me, I guess.”

He wants to reach out, Louis does. A part of him desperately wants to grasp Harry’s hands and plead with him to just stay here in the bed forever. He’s felt this sinking dread in his gut, the _it’s over_ certainty as he watches someone he loves walk away from him for the _greater good._ He hates everything about this.

But the greater part of him fully believes what he told Madeline, that they’re a team and they’re the only three people that can fully count on each other in this life. He’ll do anything for his kids because they’re the only ones he’s absolutely sure of in this world, and as much as he loves having Harry around, as much as he believes Harry _could_ be a part of this family one day, he’s not yet. He’s not the priority.

At the bedroom door, Harry stops, hand poised on the handle as he inhales deep enough to make his shoulders rise. On his exhale, Louis can hear the sniffle and his heart breaks open.

“Harry,” He calls, climbing out of the bed and wiggling into his pants before he crosses to Harry and rests his hands on those broad, broad shoulders. He slides his hands down Harry’s arms, waiting until Harry is comfortable turning to face him. “I’m going to talk to her. I _will_ call you,” he promises.

Nodding, Harry blinks furiously for a minute and then says, “Yeah. I, um. I’ll be waiting,” he promises, leaning into Louis’ touch like it’s all that holding him up.

Though Louis kisses him softly, it’s difficult to throw himself into it fully. Nothing seems real at all. Louis woke up a half hour ago with sunshine in his face and a heart filled with love and hope. How quickly everything can change, as he should have well learned by now, he thinks as Harry pulls away and takes a calming breath for himself.

“If I don’t go now, I’m going to throw a tantrum of my own, babe,” Harry whispers.

Louis feels himself smiling in spite of his sadness, resting a hand on Harry’s cheek and willing his brain to stop chanting _good-bye_ as he follows Harry through the corridor and toward the front door.

*

The problem with children, Louis has discovered, is that they are unpredictable at best. Throughout breakfast, Madeline is clinging and cuddly and quite lovely. By lunch, she’s pinched Jack until he screams and stormed off to her room in a strop when Louis told her to stop. At dinner, she’s polite and funny and sweet, but bedtime brings on another bout of clingy neediness. 

After one day, he’s exhausted. He’s exhausted and he misses Harry terribly. The worst, though, is that he’s at a complete loss at how to deal with any of this.

*

“I honestly thought I had a real handle on this thing. I really did think I was an alright parent,” Louis bemoans, dramatically sprawled across his own pillows while Zayn rolls his eyes from the chair at the other side of the room.

It’s been just over three weeks since Harry left and Louis wants to see him again so badly he can virtually taste it. They’ve texted a bit, tried talking on the phone once but it hurt too much. The comfortable ease they’ve always had together is broken and Louis feels like it’s tearing at his chest constantly.

“You _are_ an alright parent, Louis. You’re a better than alright parent,” Zayn insists.

As if on some kind of cue, Madeline’s peal of laughter filters through the closed door, a shriek and the happiest kind of joy emanating from the lounge, where Perrie is playing with the kids in order to give Zayn and Louis a chance to talk a bit. 

She and Zayn have always maintained that they have no need for their own children, that they much prefer spoiling Louis’ and then going home without the responsibility. Sometimes Louis thinks that’s a shame - they’d very clearly be absolutely amazing parents - but he respects that they know themselves and hold to that, despite any type of pressure from their parents or friends.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Zayn adds, kicking a toe toward the end of the bed.

If that was true, if Louis was good at this thing, Madeline wouldn’t be all over the board right now, would she? She wouldn’t be swinging from absolute angel to total nightmare in the span of minutes, several times in a day. She wouldn’t shout at Louis every time he tries to talk about Harry, to ask her what the real problem is here, if Louis was good at parent things.

Instead of holding it in, like he normally does, Louis asks, “Then why is this happening?”

Nonplussed, Zayn shrugs, considering Louis’ posture and his facial expressions. It’s a blessing in many ways, having a best mate who is a professional psychologist, but sometimes Louis feels like a bug under a microscope.

“Because she’s five,” Zayn answers easily. “Because all she knows is feelings and emotions.” Scooting forward on his chair, he leans forward and folds his hands together. “All we know as human beings, we have learned from processing experiences. That’s how we learn things, right? You learn what you want to do or don’t want to do by either watching someone else do it or doing it yourself. Life is collective experience. You’ve had twenty-six years worth of experiences to learn from. Maddie’s had five, and only a few of those experiences stick. Every reaction she has is based on those few experiences.”

Sometimes, Louis would very much like to smack the calm, sage grin right off of Zayn’s face. He’s grateful for it, but it’s irritating as shit. “I know she’s only a kid, Zayn,” he exclaims. “I know that obviously, but that doesn’t make her feelings irrelevant either. I just keep thinking that, as much as this fucking sucks, it’s better than having two people I love making each other miserable for the rest of their lives, innit? My being a bit sad now is better than Harry and Maddie resenting each other for the next thirty years.”

“They won’t,” Zayn insists, snorting as though Louis is ridiculous. He probably is, he won’t argue, but it doesn’t seem like a very professional reaction really. “Most likely they won’t,” he amends, which isn’t a huge confidence boost. “It’s an obstacle, obviously, but Maddie will learn to trust Harry when she sees that you do,” he says, standing and dropping to the foot of Louis’ bed, folding his legs and his hands like some kind of life guru. “So that’s the real question. Do you?”

“Do I what?” Louis asks, sitting a bit and scooting closer to Zayn for the comfort of it.

“Trust Harry,” Zayn clarifies, reaching out to rest a calming hand on Louis’ ankle. He’s not a counselor at the moment, transitioning easily into friend-mode, which allows Louis to relax even further.

He thinks for a moment because that’s what Zayn expects, but the answer is rather obvious. “I’ve left him with my kids,” he says.

But Zayn isn’t buying it. “So you trust him with your family’s safety and general well-being, but that’s not what I mean. Do you trust him with you?” He barely rests a beat before reaching forward to press the point of his finger into Louis’ chest. “Trust him with your past and your fears?” When he sits back again, he raises an eyebrow and asks, “Have you talked to him about Nathan? Or about any kind of future? Do you _trust_ him?”

“Bloody hell, Zayn,” Louis reacts, throwing his arms out to his sides. “It’s only been six months.” He loves Harry, he can admit that. But fucking hell, he’s not ready to get married to the guy. Even if he was, Harry is nineteen, for fuck’s sake. He’s not ready to marry anyone.

“But you can’t push Maddie for something you’re not willing to give,” Zayn says with a shrug, as though he hasn’t suggested the most absurd thing. 

Louis gapes at him. “It’s so different, though.” 

He’s giving Harry a chance to get closer, holding on to the possibility that this thing might turn into more somewhere down the road, and Madeline has closed the door to that possibility altogether. How can Zayn not see that?

“Of course it is,” Zayn concedes. “She doesn’t understand nuance, though, Lou, only the end result,” he adds, his eyes and his tone softening into the one Louis remembers from so many late-night conversations back in college and uni. 

And he has a point, Louis knows. He does understand what Zayn is trying to say, but that doesn’t actually put him any closer to any kind of solution and what the bleeding fuck is the point of having a best mate who knows about these things if he doesn’t fucking tell Louis what to do?

He doesn’t get a chance to say any of that, though, because a high-pitched and piercing scream echoes through the house, bouncing off of Louis’ walls as though it were happening right in this room.

He and Zayn bolt from the room so quickly they nearly slam into a wall. 

In the living room, Perrie is standing near the door, hands on her face, face beet red and terrified. Jack is crying, cradling a stunned Atticus in his lap, while Madeline fumes from the top of the sofa. It is not a self-explanatory situation.

“What the fuck?” Louis asks, not bothering to care that he’s not censored his language. 

“Louis, she,” Perrie starts and then chokes on her words. “I can’t. I’m so.” Her eyes narrow at Madeline, her breath punching short and hard from her chest. “You little,” she stops herself again and shakes her head. “Fucking hell,” she sighs and throws her arms out, shrugging out of Zayn’s touch on her back. “I was asking her to help me pick up her toys and she just grabbed the bloody cat and threw it across the room!”

Jack runs his pudgy hands over Atticus’ fur, sniffling and mumbling at him, when Louis turns his attention to Madeline. “You did _what_?” 

With all of the attitude she has been mustering as of late, Madeline rests her hands on her hips. “So?” 

“So? What?” Louis asks, confused more than angry, but just barely. “Go to your room,” he says because it’s the only thing he can think to say at the moment. When Madeline doesn’t move, he points down the hall and repeats himself. “Now, Madeline. Go now!”

She huffs and screams, causing both Atticus and Jack to jump a bit, and storms down the hall, slamming her door when she gets to her room.

Louis runs his hand over his face, worry and dread swelling together in his chest. This has to stop, all of these emotional outbursts, and he’s got to be the one to make that happen. He doesn’t like it much, if he’s honest.

“I’m going to wait in the car,” Perrie announces, darting out the door before Louis can even apologize to her. 

Zayn is the first to speak when she’s gone. “She’ll get over it,” he assures Louis. “You know how she is about animals, mate, but she’ll remember she likes Maddie more eventually.” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve got to talk to her.”

“You’re the professional,” Louis reminds him, because there is nothing he would like more than to hand this conversation off to anyone else right now.

“You’re the parent,” Zayn counters.

“Let’s trade.”

“Not a bloody fucking chance, bro.” He fishes his keys from his pocket and steps forward to hug Louis. “Just listen to her, mate. You’ll figure it out.”

He stares at the door for a moment after Zayn is gone and then turns to find Jack singing disjointed, nonsensical songs to Atticus, who still hasn’t moved. 

“Is he alright, Jack?” Louis asks, stooping to run his hands along Atticus’ sides. He seems to be unhurt, save for the look of shock still evident in his eyes, but he’s letting Jack touch him so that’s something. Louis assumes he’ll be okay, more so than Madeline will be probably.

“Good,” Jack affirms. “I got him,” he adds with a proud smile and a protective pet to Atticus’ head.

Despite every negative emotion Louis feels, he can’t stop himself from smiling at his precious, kind-hearted, and lovely little boy. “Thanks, babe,” he says, pressing a kiss to Jack’s head before he stands. “Can you keep watching him while I go talk to your sister?”

Jack nods, face determined as he returns to singing and rocking Atticus gently. 

It’s quiet inside Madeline’s room when Louis stops at the door to catch a breath. This is not going to be fun, but he knows that it has to be done. Fuck, but he hates this part of parenting more than anything.

She’s playing with a couple of trains near the wall when Louis lets himself into the room. She barely notices when he crosses to the bed and sits, watching her for a moment before he speaks.

While she can be infuriating at times, while she pisses him off and frustrates him to no end, she’s still his baby girl and he’s often times overwhelmed with how much he loves this little fireball of uncontrolled emotion. Her hair catches the light, shaking and bouncing as she talks quietly to herself and crashes two of the trains into each other.

“Am I in trouble?” she asks suddenly, turning her face to Louis without actually meeting his eye.

Louis sighs. “You could have really hurt Atticus, you know?” he asks. “It’s not okay to throw anything, Maddie, but especially not something that’s alive. Never, ever. Is that clear?” It seems pointless, explaining something so basic, but she’s a child. Sometimes he forgets that, forgets that spelling out the most basic things is necessary. When she doesn’t answer, he asks more firmly. “Madeline, are we quite clear?”

There’s a fire in her eyes when she looks straight at him. “I didn’t throw Jack,” she counters, as though Louis should be grateful.

“And you won’t,” Louis shoots back. “Because it is not nice to throw things at all, but it’s absolutely not okay to throw anyone who has actual feelings, like your brother or the cat.” 

Dropping her trains, Madeline crosses her arms over her chest and stares Louis down. “I am quite cross,” she declares without apology.

“So’m I right now,” Louis tells her honestly. She doesn’t like the answer, apparently, spinning around and huffing, her spine rigid and straight. “Don’t turn your back on me,” he commands, indignant as his own anger rises. It might be from Louis, this temper of hers, now that he thinks of it.

Instead of obeying, Madeline shakes her head. “Don’t look at me. I don’t like you.”

He clearly remembers the first time she said that, when she was three and angry that Louis wouldn’t let her sleep with every toy she owned. He’d had to leave the room, tears brimming in his eyes at the sentiment, until Nathan assured him that it wouldn’t last forever and that he knew what was best better than she did. He wasn’t very good at this sort of thing, at talking Madeline down from an outburst, Nathan wasn’t.

It used to bother him that Louis would try to reason with her, even as a toddler, that he would use logic and a reasonable, “grown up” voice to communicate with her. Maybe it was wrong, Louis doesn’t know anymore, but he doesn’t know how to be anything but honest with his kids. He’s never known how to look into Madeline’s searching, imploring eyes and outright lie to her.

“You’re not topping my list of favorite people right now, either,” he tells her. “But I still love you tremendously, Madeline. It’s alright to be mad at someone. You can do that and still love them more than anything in the whole world.”

Though she doesn’t turn around, her little shoulders fall a bit. “I’m still so, so mad,” she says simply. 

“Why?” Louis asks, easing off of the bed to stretch his legs in front of him. His toes almost reach her back, almost but not quite. “Why are you so, so mad, little love?”

“I just am,” is her response.

“That’s not an answer.”

Growing frustrated again, Madeline declares, “I don’t know. Don’t talk to me.”

There are times - times like this, when Madeline is fed up and talking absolute shit, for example - when his kids serve as mirrors for Louis’ worst habits and characteristics. When he views them through this kind of lens, it’s easy to see how absolutely ridiculous he can be, and how easily influenced his kids are by his own reactions.

“I want to help you,” he explains, scooting forward a bit. “I don’t want you to be angry, love.”

“I do,” Madeline says.

“You do what? Want to be angry?”

“Yes, I like it.”

Louis sighs. “You like being angry? Really?” Madeline turns and crosses her arms again, her brow furrowed and her lips pinched into a tight line. “Makes my stomach hurt, me,” he admits, rubbing his own belly as she inches forward slightly. “Makes me go all hot and yucky. I don’t like it one bit.”

He doubts himself a lot of the time, but this honesty thing might not be his worst decision. Opening up about his own feelings seems to be breaking through Madeline’s defenses much quicker than Nathan’s old method of demanding she stop feeling that way and sending her to her room. 

“The worst part,” he goes on, resting his hand on the floor between them, in case she wants to hold on to it, “is that sometimes I can’t help it. Sometimes it just happens and I get mad and I don’t even know why.”

With a heavy sigh, Madeline stands and flops down in Louis’ lap. “You too, huh?” she asks, flinging an arm around his neck.

“Yup,” Louis acknowledges, fighting the urge to cuddle her. That road leads to ignoring this conversation and he can’t do that. Not anymore. “To everyone, I think. Annoying, innit?”

She shoves a handful of hair from her face and says, “So how does it stop?”

“Good question,” Louis tells her, nodding a bit as he thinks it through. How does he explain this? “I think first we have to figure out what makes us mad, maybe.”

“Hm,” Madeline hums, watching him with wide eyes, waiting. “And then what?”

Louis scoots back, until his back is resting against the bed frame, dragging her with him and settling her against his leg so they can still see each other’s faces. “One step at a time, thank you,” he tells her, booping her nose softly. “What’s got you so angry, babe?”

He thinks he knows, but he’s completely unprepared for her answer. “Life.”

“Life?” he asks, laughing a bit and then swallowing it down. “That’s a big statement for a little girl,” he tells her.

But she just nods again, so serious about this. “Nothing works. I try everything. Nothing works.”

For the most part, Louis is good at deciphering what his kids are trying to say. Jack gets confused sometimes, his sentences and even words coming out jumbled and a bit incoherent, but Louis can usually figure out what he’s trying to say. Madeline is fairly clear these days, but Louis has been understanding her for longer.

“What?” he asks, at a loss no matter how he tries to twist her words this time.

“To be happy,” she says, groaning.

Louis can feel her stiffening up again, feel her spine straightening and her posture growing more frustrated. He rubs a hand down the line of her back as he asks, “Why are you not happy, love?” What on Earth does a five year old have to not be happy about, he wonders.

This time, Madeline doesn’t answer. She doesn’t say anything at all, just picks at a loose string on the knee of Louis’ jeans and refuses to look up. It’s worrisome because she’s very rarely at a loss for words.

“Babe, is this still about Poppy and Harry?” he asks, hesitant for fear that she’ll explode again. Even before she nods, he knows that he’s on the right track. “Can you look at me, please?”

Her eyes are watery, her lower lip trembling, as she raises her head to meet Louis’ eyes. It doesn’t last long before she’s looking away again, growling when Louis rests his finger under her chin and angles her face toward his again. Her cheeks are flushed and he can’t tell if she’s embarrassed or something else altogether.

It makes sense to him, he thinks, but he wants to be sure. “Love, are you not happy because you think I’m not happy?”

Dragging her arm across her nose and taking a second to push her hair out of her face again, Madeline draws her eyebrows together once more and glares at Louis, though it looks more painful than angry now. “Everybody cried lots before, back when Poppy leaved us.”

“Left,” Louis corrects out of instinct and then cringes. “Sorry, you’re right. We did cry a lot. You missed him, didn’t you?”

“You missed him,” she fires back, the exact kind of comeback Louis uses with Zayn all the time, though he’s not sure she means it like that this time. “And I missed him. And Jack missed him. And everybody cried lots.”

Well, to be fair, Jack never even met Nathan. He was gone before Jack was born, so while Madeline is right, Jack did cry a lot as a baby, it had more to do with colic and generally being a baby than it did with Nathan leaving. Doesn’t seem like the most prudent argument at the moment, though.

Instead, he asks, “What do you miss about him, Maddie?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Before, she said that Louis was happy and then he was sad. He’s always assumed that her seeing Harry in his bed like she used to see Nathan in his bed had reminded her to be sad for him again. Now he’s starting to wonder if that’s not it at all.

“What do you remember most about your Poppy?” he asks, dreading the breakdown that this could bring, if he’s right.

“He lived here,” she says slowly, turning her face away again. “That’s all. He lived here then he didn’t. That’s all.”

“Maddie, love, have you been angry because you can’t remember him?” 

Finally, the dam breaks. Her little arms flail helplessly as she sighs. “At school, we drawed pictures-,”

“Drew,” Louis corrects and then laughs when Madeline slaps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, you’re right. I’m sorry. Continue with your grammatically incorrect story.”

“You’re weird,” Madeline tells him, her eyes moving quickly as she tries to remember what she was saying. “At school we _drew_ what our families do together at the summer hols. I drawed, drew,” she glares at him again before going on, “ _drew_ me and you and Jack and Auntie Lottie and Harry and Niall and Gemma in the garden like at my party,” she explains.

“It sounds lovely,” Louis chimes in, dragging his fingers slowly through her hair. “Why did I never see this picture, huh?”

“Jamie said my family’s not real because I don’t have a mummy and a daddy. I said I used to have a Poppy but he’s gone now and my teacher says it’s okay because sometimes that happens,” Madeline explains, watching for Louis’ reaction. 

If he’s honest, he wants to punch this Jamie kid and hug Madeline’s teacher, but neither of those are actually helpful at the moment, so he opts for nodding. “She’s right. That does happen sometimes.”

“It happened to Mary. Her daddy went away, too, and got a new family, but she still sees him sometimes. And Hattie has two mummies and two daddies and gets two holidays, to America and France. Then David said his daddy got dead but he still ‘members him being a good daddy, but I don’t remember Poppy being a good poppy. I just ‘member he made us sad. And he never takes me on holiday to America or comes to see me at my birthday.”

When she’s done, as though unloading her soul has taken everything out of her tiny body, she slumps back against Louis’ chest. 

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if he _can_ speak without his voice cracking around the emotions he’s feeling at the moment. He’s been so focused on healing himself, on making sure that _he_ was ready to move on from Nathan. He so desperately wanted to believe that Madeline wouldn’t even remember, that she was still moving through life unfazed. 

When he tore all of the pictures off the walls and shoved every reminder of Nathan into a box, one that he drunkenly burned in the backyard, it was in an effort to forget. Nathan didn’t want to be a part of this family anymore, so Louis convinced himself that they didn’t want him, either. He couldn’t stand the reminders, the smiling photographs of the happy family and the gifts that screamed Nathan’s memory from every room. _He_ needed to forget. It didn’t occur to him that Madeline might need to remember, at least for a little while.

He couldn’t explain to her that Nathan didn’t want them, still can’t do that because she won’t understand it, but he didn’t even try to see beyond his own anger, his own hurt. He thought he was protecting them, but he can admit now that he was only protecting himself.

“I want you to listen to me,” he finally says, lifting her from his lap and sitting her on the floor until they’re face to face, until Louis can lean down and press his head to hers. “I am so, so sorry that you don’t remember your Poppy, little one. I’m so sorry that I didn’t let you remember him. I’m sorry that I didn’t invite him to your birthday party and I’m sorry that he’s never taken you on any kind of holiday. I’m sorry that sometimes the best kids don’t get the best poppies to go along with them, okay? I’m sorry you didn’t get to have two daddies to watch you grow up and always be there for you.”

“It’s okay, Daddy,” Madeline says, though everything else she’s said in the last few minutes would contradict that statement very much. 

He thinks maybe none of this has been so much about Nathan as it’s been about Madeline needing some reassurance. She just needs to know it’s alright if she doesn’t remember him, and that it’s okay if she likes another man in his place. Maybe she’s not so far off from Louis at all, from any other human person, in that regard.

Louis doesn’t bother saying as much when Madeline reaches her pudgy fingers out to dry the tears on Louis’ cheek. “I got one daddy who loves me to the moon and back. That’s good, too.”

He can’t stop a few tears this time, hugging Madeline closely to his chest just long enough to press a kiss to the top of her head. “I do love you to the moon and back. I love you so much, Madeline. So much.”

“Me, too,” she says against his shoulder. “Squishin’ me, though.”

Louis laughs as he pulls away, pressing another kiss to her head just because he can and because sometimes she needs to know she’s that important to the one dad she has left. He still needs to talk to her about Harry, but he thinks maybe that should wait for another day.

*

Louis thinks maybe, as he steps out of the car and wipes his sweating palms over his jeans, that it was always meant to happen this way. He certainly can’t imagine anyone other than Jack bringing he and Harry back together now that he thinks about it, anyway.

_His own eyes were fixed on the television screen last night, Jack sitting in his lap, tinkering with Louis’ phone. It wasn’t unusual, not even a little bit, until Jack giggled and said, “Harry.” When Louis looked down, expecting to see his photos opened, he found Harry’s tired eyes and his genuine but worn smile on Face Time instead._

_“Holy shit,” Louis breathed before he could think better of it. Madeline glared from across the room and Harry seemed to smile in spite of himself, waving somewhat self-consciously as he adjusted the beanie on his head. “Hi.”_

_“Hi,” Harry answered, winking and pulling a face that made Jack screech with laugher._

_While Jack babbled on and Harry pretended to understand every word, Louis just stared. He didn’t know what to say, but fuck, he wanted to say something. He wanted to beg Harry to come over, or at least blurt out that he loved him or missed him or _something.__

_Ever the one for perfect timing, though, Madeline popped over to the side of Louis’ chair, considering the phone while chewing nervously on her fingers. She glanced up at Louis with wide eyes, as if asking if she was allowed to say hello, and Louis just lifted her into his lap, jostled both kids a bit, and then kissed the side of her head._

_“Miss Maddie!” Harry exclaimed, as though nothing had happened between any of them at all, as if they still thought the world of him and he still returned the sentiment._

_Louis thought maybe that was the one thing that settled it all for him, right then. There was a maturity in that reaction, one that he found more endearing and attractive than those tattoos on Harry’s collarbones, or at least equally attractive._

_“How’ve your summer hols been, my love?” Harry asked_

_Madeline was only quiet for a moment before she said, “Good. I miss you.”_

_Though his smile never really wavered, Harry’s eyes moved to Louis, held his gaze tight, as he said, “I miss you guys, too. I miss you loads actually.”_

_“You should come over,” Madeline told him._

_“Make Daddy happy,” Jack added, which made Louis laugh and Harry gape. “Like that,” Jack added, pointing at Louis and managing to wedge a finger up his nose in the process._

_“Yeah? You think I should?” Harry asked, winking at Louis before returning his attention to Madeline. “We could cook up some dinner one night, maybe?”_

_She nodded and turned to Louis, whipping him in the face with her hair. “Can we, Dad? Can Harry come make dinner? I will help him!”_

_“Will you eat it?” Louis asked, tweaking her nose and smiling when she squirmed away, eyes rolling as she went. “Of course Harry can. He can pop over whenever he likes, can’t he?”_

_He didn’t mean to hold his breath, but Madeline’s answer meant more than the way Jack was clapping and saying yes repeatedly at the moment._

_The way she said, “Duh,” caused a relief to flood through Louis that he wasn’t expecting._

And now here he is. It’s quite the balmy night, but Louis feels the same breath-stealing rush of air that used to get when his dad would take him to football matches as a kid. He remembers it crisper, a chill in the air and his fingers frozen inside his gloves, but the rush of the air from his lungs is the same when Harry steps out of his own car and smiles at Louis across the three parking spaces between them.

They decided it would be best if they met up first, without the kids, to talk about things. Harry is still coming home with Louis, assuming all of this goes well, but there are some things they need to discuss first.

“I’m sorry,” he says when they’re close enough to speak without shouting. Harry seems surprised, perhaps a bit disappointed, so Louis adds, “Not that I’m here, idiot,” he clarifies, smiling when Harry does, “But that it’s gotten to this point and I didn’t do something about it.”

Shaking his head, Harry leads Louis past a group of children playing in the park and toward a picnic table under a tree. The silence isn’t as stilted or stifling as Louis had feared, but it’s also not encouraging. Harry is, no doubt, having a ton of thoughts. Louis wishes he would just voice them all at once, get it all out in the open, so they can go back to being normal and comfortable together. As he’s not a complete moron, he knows it doesn’t work that way, though.

“I was pretty angry at first, yeah?” Harry admits, reaching for Louis’ hand, as though he’s willing Louis not to get the wrong idea. “I felt like you’re her dad, ya know? You should make the rules, not her.” He stops and sighs. “Me mum tells me that’s not how it works sometimes. And I do get it. I do. This is big stuff for a little kid. It was big stuff for me when I was a kid. I just. I guess I just never thought about what it was like from the side of those guys my mom used to bring home.”

Louis can’t help thinking that everyone is like that, no matter how old they are, though. It’s hard to think past the pain, to be rational, when something horrible happens. He certainly knows that, and maybe Zayn’s right. Maybe it’s time Harry knows that, too.

“When my mum and dad split up, I was so fucking angry at both of them. I didn’t know shit about what had happened, but I accused him of walking out and then I turned around and accused her of kicking him out. I remember having a go at her one day, fuck I remember it so clearly. We were in the kitchen and I called her selfish and said that she didn’t understand what she was putting us, me and the girls, though. I know now that it wasn’t really anybody’s fault, just a mutual agreement that it wasn’t working anymore, but she was the one I saw every day, so she’s the one I lit into. I was such a shit.”

Sometimes he still cringes when he thinks about that time, that last year that he lived at home, the way he treated his mum and dad. He gets it now, more than he ever did back then, but, “I didn’t understand any of it until it happened to me,” he admits, realizing that it’s the first time he’s ever voiced that, maybe the first time he’s ever seen it that way.

Harry reaches for his hand, weaves their fingers together and holds tightly. “Reckon nobody knows how to do it right, do they? It’s not exactly a graceful situation.”

“I was nineteen when Nathan and I decided to have kids,” Louis says, smiling when Harry does because the similarities are not lost on him, “and I remember telling him that we were going to stay together forever if it killed us, even if we started to hate each other at some point, because we were not going to put our kids through what I had just gone through.”

“Can I ask,” Harry starts and then stops to shake his head. “I mean, I get it if you don’t want to tell me, but what happened there?”

With a sigh, Louis thinks about the ways he’s prepared himself to answer that question over the years. If he’s honest, he always thought Madeline would be the first one he’d have to explain it to, but she’s not ready yet. Harry is, and he deserves to know. Louis wants him to know, which is something in itself, he thinks.

“We’d known each other our whole lives, or most of them anyway, and I’ve thought about it a hundred times, but I honestly don’t know when I started thinking of him as something other than my best friend. I remember the first time I kissed him, and that he didn’t kiss me back. And I remember the first time he kissed me. It all just sort of happened, I guess. It was like, it took him longer to figure it out than it took me, but it was always kind of there with us, under the surface or whatever.” Thinking back on it, Louis wonders if he shouldn’t have learned from Nathan’s hesitation from the beginning, but he knows undoubtedly that it wouldn’t have mattered.

“We both wanted kids, used to talk about what we would name them and what they would look like, and whether we would adopt or use a surrogate. We were talking about bloody surrogates when we were sixteen because we were not normal.” He shakes his head at the thought now, knows that he will react exactly as his own mum did if either of his kids acts so naively at sixteen. “We left home and moved in together when I went to uni and it was awesome. He was working for a builder and making good money and it was amazing to just be together all the time, right, and it felt like forever.”

“And you tease me about being young?” Harry asks playfully, but he drops the smile when Louis doesn’t return it. “Sorry, go on.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve learned,” is all Louis can offer, a soft shrug as he grips Harry’s hand tighter, though he can’t be sure if it’s actually for Harry or more for himself now. “I worked in an after school program during my first year, playing football with primary school boys until their parents got off work. It was everything I had always dreamed being a parent would be, like it was everything I was meant to be doing, and I think Nathan caught my passion, or got caught up in it at least, just from hearing me go on about it when I got home every night.”

He remembers going out, hitting pubs and clubs with his mates, enjoying that time dancing up on Nathan and stumbling drunkenly through the streets with Zayn and Liam, but that’s not what he remembers most fondly from uni. It was the late nights, long after the sun had set, when he and Nathan would lie in their bed and dream about what their family was going to be like. Those are the times Louis revisited for weeks after Nathan left, the times he still misses sometimes, if he’s honest.

“Anyway, to make a long story really fucking short, a lady I worked with told me about this surrogacy agency that she and her husband were looking into and, eventually, during my second year, we decided that we were going to go for it. We were so young, but we knew what we wanted. Nathan’s job was stable and we were going to be together forever, so why not get started, right?”

He shakes his head as he thinks about how stupid they really were, but it all made sense at the time. Louis knew that it made sense then, that it still does, but he also knows that it’s unlikely. He knows what Harry must be thinking, because it was the same thing everyone thought back then.

“We were so idealistic,” he finally says, shaking his head and laughing sardonically. “We worked it out all the way down to how we would use my sperm for the first one and his for the second. We were going to be equal partners in parenting, that’s what the book we read called it, and we made all these charts for who would get up with the baby when, and who would tackle each of the household chores. We were twenty years old and proper domestic. It was pretty fucking weird, honestly.”

The first time Zayn and Liam came to the house after Madeline was born, they looked completely shell-shocked, out of their depth and so confused, and Louis loved it. He remembers thinking that they just didn’t understand, that they’d get it some day, that he was so much more enlightened than they were then. Maybe they knew something he didn’t.

Though he doesn’t ask, Harry shifts uncomfortably, as though he knows this story is about to take an ugly turn. He stretches, resituates himself until his legs are stretched out on either side of Louis’, and then tilts his head to signal he’s ready to hear more.

“Alright, so the thing about kids, you may have noticed, is that they’re always fucking there.” This time, it’s Louis that smiles and Harry returns it with a chuckle. “They always _need_ something and no matter how carefully crafted your plans may be, they always find a way to make them completely useless. I loved that about them, honestly. Maybe it was the fact that I grew up with so many younger siblings and Nathan had none, but he didn’t love it nearly as much as I did.”

He didn’t recognize it at the time, Louis didn’t, but Nathan wasn’t happy when he discovered that parenthood wasn’t what he wanted it to be. It wasn’t adorable family portraits hung over the mantle and a plethora of colorful toys carefully placed in their perfect little bins. It wasn’t sleeping angels and cuddles and quietly playing in the corner while Daddy and Poppy watched the football and easy family dinners round the perfectly set table. 

It was hard work, much harder than the construction he was being paid to do during the day. There was no release in parenting for Nathan, and Louis was so caught up in everything he was doing - coursework and being a dad and living his own dream - that he didn’t even notice the growing tension between them.

“But you had another one,” Harry says finally, when Louis is so lost in his own head that he doesn’t speak for long moments. “I mean, if he was that unhappy with one, why would he want to have another one?”

It’s an age-old question, one that Louis screamed at Nathan on the day he left actually. It’s one he still doesn’t have an answer for, sadly. “Zayn thinks agreeing to a second baby was a last ditch attempt to convince himself that we could make it work,” he says with a shrug. “I feel like I should have known about a million times, but when he insisted that we use my sperm again so that the kids looked like siblings, I think that was when I knew it was over.”

He didn’t admit it then, of course he didn’t, but that was the turning point. He’s never even told his mum that bit of information. He’s rolled it over in his own brain a million times, how Nathan had to know that he was leaving, because he didn’t even want so much as a genetic fingerprint on this little family they’d been building together. Louis wonders sometimes if they were ever building it together, or if Nathan had just humored him until he couldn’t anymore.

“And he just walked out? You haven’t seen him since?” When Louis shakes his head, Harry stammers to ask, “Do you think he’ll change his mind someday?”

For all the times Louis dreamt of just that happening, he knows it won’t. “Liam ran into him in a pub a few months back,” he confesses. He hadn’t said anything at the time because things with Harry were so new, so fragile, and Louis wasn’t ready to share any of this with him. Now he can’t imagine _not_ sharing it. “He and his girlfriend are having a kid in the fall. Liam said when he mentioned me, Nathan asked how my kids were, not _the_ kids or _our_ kids, but mine. He never actually saw them as his, so I don’t think you have to worry about him charging in and demanding his rights, no.”

“I wasn’t,” Harry starts to explain and then stops himself again. “Maybe I was a little worried, but more about you and the kids. I just, I mean it’s obvious Madeline remembers him. I can’t imagine how badly it would fuck her up if he just showed up and then changed his mind again or something.”

Maybe it shouldn’t, but the way Harry is growing angrier about this by the second is actually making Louis feel better about everything, losing Nathan and finding Harry and all of it. It’s nice to know someone’s on his side, that someone loves him - and his kids, honestly - enough to care if someone wants to jerk them around in the future.

“Look, the entire reason I’m telling you all of this,” Louis says, “is because I want you around, Harry. I want to let you in and let you be a part of this, in any way that you want to be, but also because I want you to know that I’ll understand if you don’t want to be, too.” When Harry starts to protest, Louis presses a hand to his lips and smiles, genuine and sure. “It doesn’t make you a bad person and it doesn’t mean that you won’t be a great parent someday, when you’re ready. Just know that I get it if you’re not ready yet. If anyone knows how much all of this is to ask of someone your age, it’s me, alright?”

If it’s possible, Harry looks more angry than he did a second ago as he pushes Louis’ hand away from his mouth. “I am the first to admit that I didn’t know nearly enough about what it was actually like to be around kids all the time when I met you. I probably had some of those same misconceptions, thought it’d be easy because I’m pretty good with kids and all, I admit that. I’m probably going to want to go out with Niall sometimes and revise somewhere quiet and get the fuck away from the madness sometimes, too. I mean, I’m not promising you that it’s an easy transition or anything, but I think I was handling it okay before all of this, wasn’t I?”

With a nod, Louis confirms. “You were. Better than Nate ever -,” Swallowing, Louis allows himself to say the words everyone else has been saying for months now. “But you’re not him, are you?” He believes them this time, is the thing.

“I’m not,” Harry assures him. “I’m not saying I’m ready to be a full time parent, but I really miss you and the kids so much. I just want a chance, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, leaning in to press a kiss to Harry’s chin and then his mouth. “Just don’t fuck it up, alright?” he asks against Harry’s lips, laughing when Harry tackles him back against the grass.

*

**Epilogue**

Kids, for Louis, were not an accident. He wanted them, planned for them, worked them into his life goals and his budget. He wanted them, all three of them, more than he’s ever wanted anything.

Almost anything.

There is one thing, one angle he never considered, and he’s sort of wishing that he had. He wishes that he had every morning, really. Seven years and three kids ago, he had forgotten to take into account the way he’d never have another lie in, never get to lazily sleep until noon and do whatever the hell he wanted for uninterrupted hours at a time.

There was a time when waking up before his alarm went off - his alarm that is set for six fifteen, for fuck’s sake - would have made Louis angry. Now, though, now that he’s half-hard and cozy warm, tucked up against Harry’s chest under a mountain of covers, all he feels is a thrill of hope. He has fifteen minutes, plenty of time to wake Harry up with a lazy blow job and maybe, if he’s quick like he thinks he is, enough time to get one himself. 

He stretches and shifts, taking a moment to rub his dick against the warm skin of Harry’s hip, smiling at the way he can feel Harry’s groan rumbling through his chest against Louis’ cheek. Louis lets his fingers play over Harry’s nipple, teasing it with the pad of his thumb before he gives it a lackadaisical tweak.

“Lou,” Harry mutters, but it’s hard to tell if it’s a warning or an encouragement. 

Louis takes it as the latter, repeating the motion before sliding his hand over Harry’s chest and down to his tummy, dancing a disjointed rhythm over the ridges of the hard muscles in his stomach.

“Just,” Louis starts, leaning back a bit to roll Harry onto his side. “That’s a love,” he compliments when Harry moves wordlessly, snuggling back into his pillow while spreading his legs just enough to let Louis nestle is cock in the cleft of Harry’s ass. “Alright then,” he grumbles. “You just lie there and let me do all the work then, how’s that?”

The response is muffled, sounds more than words really, but Louis doesn’t need words anymore. They’ve reached a point in their relationship where they function quite effectively without them. Seeing as they’ve only been together three years, he thinks that’s impressive. He’d pat himself on the back if he didn’t have more important backsides to attend to at the moment.

He’s pressing a kiss to the dip between Harry’s shoulder blades when the bedroom door swings open and a sleepy, little voice says, “The sun’s awake,” as though Louis hadn’t noticed the rays of it streaming through the bedroom window.

He flops onto his back with a groan. Impromptu, spontaneous sex is apparently still a thing of the past. Someday, Louis thinks he might get used to it. For now, he allows himself to feel disappointed while Harry clears his throat and hitches up onto an elbow to give seven-year-old Madeline the attention she’s seeking.

“Are your brothers up yet?” he asks, voice cracking under the weight of sleep in a way that Louis should not find sexy. He blames it on the seconds immediately preceding Maddie’s entrance.

She smiles, her dark hair smacking her in the face when she vigorously nods her head. “Jack’s making breakfast.”

With a resigned sigh, Harry runs a hand over his face and nods. To be fair, that probably means that Louis’ four-year-old son - who has approximately as much culinary talent as his father - is trying to work the toaster again, which just never ends well. 

“Can you please go ask him to wait for me? I’ll just be a minute, love,” Harry finally says.

“Okay. And Charlie wants up but his bed’s too tall and I can’t reach him.”

“I’ll get him,” Harry assures her, struggling to sit, effectively allowing all of the morning cold air into Louis’ cave of warmth. 

When they’re alone again, Louis allows himself to blink up at Harry and, well, it’s an alright sight to see first thing in the morning. Sure, his eyes are puffy and a little crusty from sleep and his hair is matted to the left side of his head while the right side looks to be making a break for freedom, but Louis is quite sure there will never be a time when Harry isn’t the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. He hopes not, anyway.

“Sorry,” Harry apologizes with a mirthful smirk, his hand finding Louis’ thigh beneath the covers. “Maybe during nap time?”

Maybe, but Louis has found that nap time quickies very rarely ever work out for them. There’s always something to do, some giant mess to clean up or some work to catch up on, so he doesn’t put too much hope in the prospect anymore.

With a final squeeze, Harry pulls himself up and out of the bed. “Breakfast, right,” he says, as though he’s psyching himself up for the task at hand. “Come on, Daddy. You’re on tea duty.”

Louis groans, buries his face in the pillow for only a second more - just long enough to thank whomever might listen that he has Harry to help get the kids up and around these days - and then rolls himself out of bed.

By the time he makes it to the kitchen, the house is alive with the sounds of cartoons on the telly in the lounge, two shrieking kids chasing each other around the sofa, and a third clapping happily from his observation point in his high chair at the end of the breakfast table.

Louis stops to drop a soft kiss onto Charlie’s head, his baby fine hair still white blond and silky beneath Louis’ lips. “Morning, baby love,” he whispers, smiling automatically when Charlie offers him a crinkled smile and an incoherent, happy greeting. He may not look as much like his brother and sister, but he looks just like Harry’s old baby pictures and that’s enough to warm Louis’ heart.

There’s one batch of pancakes and a few slices of bacon on the griddle, enough for three more batches at Harry’s side. He’s still shirtless, just the way Louis likes him first thing in the morning frankly, but wearing a pink apron that his mother bought him a few months ago. When he turns to kiss Louis, his eyes are still swollen from sleep and there’s a pillow mark still pressed into his cheek, but he looks so genuinely happy that it’s hard for Louis to find a single fault with any part of him.

When the pancakes are finished, Harry stacks a couple on each of the small, plastic plates - pirates for Madeline and fire trucks for Jack- and then sets about cutting them into small pieces according to each kid’s preference. He breaks Madeline’s bacon into pieces but leaves Jack’s whole because Jack likes the crunchy sound it makes when he bites into it. 

Louis stands back, watching wordlessly as Harry delivers both plates to the table before he calls out, “Time to eat,” and turns back to the refrigerator. With practiced ease, he grabs a raspberry yogurt for Jack, a bowl of mandarin slices he sectioned for Madeline last night, and a cup of milk for each of them. He doesn’t bother to look at the table before he shouts over his shoulder, “Your pancakes are getting cold,” because he knows the two older kids haven’t made it into the kitchen yet.

Carefully, Harry sets the rest of the breakfasts at the appropriate settings and then lowers himself into the chair beside Charlie. “Oh, woops,” he says, bouncing up before he’s even really sat, meeting Louis with a smile as he accepts the bib Louis’ been waiting the last twenty seconds to hand him. 

Funny, he doesn’t remember picking it up, but Harry always forgets it. Louis takes a strange comfort in knowing that, in having such a practiced routine, it doesn’t even require thought anymore. 

“Thanks,” Harry says, beaming. He pecks another hurried kiss against the corner of Louis’ mouth and then returns his attention back to Charlie. “What would we do without your daddy, huh? Probably lose our heads, wouldn’t we?” 

Louis doesn’t know about that. Harry’s turned into quite the natural father figure over the last two years, since moving into the house and finally convincing Louis to add one more baby to the family. He was born for fatherhood, Harry was, and he might still doubt himself sometimes, but Louis doesn’t doubt it anymore. 

He watches as Jack wipes the syrup from his chin with the sleeve of his pyjamas, still the happiest when he’s a mess, and Madeline shoves oranges into her mouth far too fast in an attempt to get back to her cartoons. Sometimes it sneaks up on him, memories of those years when it wasn’t as good, when every day felt like a struggle, but they’re past that now. It’s comforting to know he doesn’t have to worry about it anymore.

“What do you think, Miss Maddie? Do we like the raspberry syrup?” Harry asks, holding Charlie’s spoon out of reach while he turns his attention away. If he doesn’t, Charlie ends up trying to feed himself and then Louis spends the next hour trying to clean up the affects of his terrible hand-eye coordination. 

In response, Madeline smiles around a huge mouthful of pancakes and flavored syrup. “It’s so good,” she says, standing to press a sticky, sloppy kiss to Harry’s cheek. He returns one to the top of her head before he goes back to feeding Charlie.

Madeline can still be picky about the foods that she likes, but she’s been trying lately. She at least tastes things before she declares them _gross_ , so it’s a step forward. Harry is better at asking what she wants before he wastes his time making something she’ll hate. Louis thinks the most beautiful thing in the world has been watching the evolution of Madeline’s and Harry’s relationship.

Or maybe, if he’s truly honest with himself, the most beautiful thing has been watching the family he always dreamed of having piecing itself together in ways he never could have imagined. It’s not at all what he planned when he was sixteen, but it’s turning out alright.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [here](http://littlelostpieces.tumblr.com/), if you want to drop by and say 'hi'!


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